


And if I get burned, at least we were electrified

by SocialMoth



Series: Meet-cute 'verse [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (Keith's not super-great at picking boyfriends okay), Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, College Student Keith (Voltron), Consent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Denial of Feelings, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Boyfriend, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, Musician Lance (Voltron), Not Beta Read, Not necessarily in order, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Smut, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unhealthy Relationships, Vomiting, implied past dub-con, of course they will, will they won't they, you know how this is gonna go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialMoth/pseuds/SocialMoth
Summary: Change my priorities / The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury.Or;Keith is tired of just going through the motions with his current boyfriend, but he doesn't have any reason to actually leave until he meets a cute new arrival to town -- and makes a few decisions drunk that he might not have made sober.Somehow, it works out in his favor.





	1. You've ruined my life by not being mine

**Author's Note:**

> January 2018
> 
> So yeah this is a thing that happened in my brain. And now I don't even know what's going on.
> 
> Heed the dub-con/unhealthy relationship warning, guys. Please be kind to yourselves.
> 
> Enjoy and stuff.
> 
> (Heyyyyyy look at me writing a meet-cute brand of AU)

If Keith had been dating literally anyone else, he wouldn't have accompanied them to a too loud, too dark, too crowded bar on a Thursday night for bottom-tier drinks, unremarkable music, and deep-fried starch.

Anyone else, he would have demanded to know why the hell they couldn't do the same at home, minus the three key elements of the introvert's nightmare (aka, Keith's).

But Bryce insisted, said he knew the headlining performer and hadn't seen them in forever, and promised he knew every way to more than make it up to Keith like the palm of his hand – and Keith could ask for as many of them as he needed until he felt thoroughly – _thoroughly_ – appeased.

This was not an empty or an overblown promise. They'd done this before; and Keith was not too proud to beg for _Bryce's_ hands on his body, Bryce's mouth, Bryce's… well. Pinned into a corner, Keith would admit that mind-shattering sex was a big, major part of their relationship, and probably the only reason they were still together, if he had enough whiskey in him to feel like sharing.

Their romance had died too long ago to resuscitate, Keith reflected for not the first time as he wet his lips with his drink – Daniel's honey whiskey, ordered when Bryce couldn't mock his sweet tooth even with hard liquor. He peered into the dimness, relying more on the stage lighting, such as it was, to try to locate his boyfriend.

He'd met Bryce at the community college. Keith was gradually pocketing his 100- and 200-level classes until he figured out what degree he wanted; Bryce was taking vocational courses after a recently finalized divorce.

"Was it because you're bi?" Keith couldn't help asking when Bryce told him about his ex-wife's sudden walkout. Bryce had smiled with bleak eyes, swirling his drink.

"It was cos I'm a Democrat," he said, and Keith forced a laugh to shadow his, but he never quite believed that was the whole truth.

Dating had just kind of _happened._ One night they were discussing the more polarizing topic of a mutual class's lecture, and just a short week later they were stargazing at that giant Texas sky on the hood of Bryce's oversize Ford, and Bryce had leaned up on his elbow over him, locked questioning eyes, and Keith opened his mouth for the oncoming kiss.

Sleeping together, in retrospect, happened nowhere _near_ soon enough after that. And _ohhhh boy_ ; Keith had been around the block a few times, but Bryce had expertly introduced him to a whole new reality.

So, that was what Keith had to look forward to. Not insignificant, he tried to convince himself, but their routine lately had pretty much been _only_ that. A few times a week they would merely see each other in class, and then one or two nights a week Keith would go home with Bryce, where they would have takeout dinner, polite small talk, then go to bed with a little somethin' to help wind them down for sleep, booze optional.

Keith rocked the glass in his hand, rapping the bar counter with the chipped bottom edges. Dregs of whiskey wobbled around. No sign of Bryce. Licking his lips, he called the bartender for another round on Bryce's tab, and turned to face the opposite way from the stage, weary of the blinding lights.

A commotion in the far back corner caught his notice before his eyes had even adjusted to the new darkness, only silhouettes against the dark-painted wall distinguishable – no faces. But the instigator managed to stand out anyway, bounding around the seated heads as they all talked over each other, a jumble of voices rising in volume until he(?) waved them all quiet. The stir had grabbed the attention of the nearby tables, dropping the ambient noise further so Keith could hear what they were saying.

"...And so, so, Hunk is all, 'I don't like the looks of this, man, maybe we should sit this one out.' And I'm all, 'Dude, it's not a contest, we just gotta, like, give 'em the ol' razzle dazzle,'" – Keith choked on a mouthful of whiskey at the accompanying jazz hands, managing to stifle it in his sleeve before anyone could notice and ask if he was okay – "and boom, they are on our side, and it's a great night!" Keith was able to pick out features now, and the storyteller's grin stretched wide enough to split his face in two. Whatever was actually funny about the story, Keith had obviously missed; but he couldn't help smiling behind his glass, watching that boy – clearly old enough to drink, but still a boy in all the best ways – make other people laugh. He forgot for a moment how abandoned he'd felt just a moment ago, when he couldn't see Bryce anywhere. Pulling his gaze away, he turned back toward the counter and threw back the rest of his glass, debating whether he wanted another or to go find and demand his boyfriend take him home, before he did something completely stupid.

Head beginning to float, Keith ignored his better judgment in the end and signaled for a third.

He barely tasted the alcohol anymore, the loneliness unexpectedly crashing over him again until all he wanted was to dull it down to nothing, set it humming in the background, make it something he could tune out. Halfway through his vision swam, and he put the glass down, dropping his chin on his other hand while he waited for the room to right itself again.

"You okay there, man?" someone said over his shoulder and he jolted, but rather than lift his head he simply lolled it to one side until he haphazardly flopped onto the counter with all the grace of a newborn foal, peering up at a startlingly blue pair of eyes and smooth tanned skin.

The boy he'd been watching! He pushed himself upright, gaping – ( _not subtle at all, Keith_ ) – and fixed a rogue strand of hair behind his ear. "F-fine," he nearly squeaked, marveling at how he kept that (beautiful, just _beautiful_ ) face in focus, "Just… uh."

The other gave him a lopsided smile, amused. "Takin' a nap? Here?"

"I…" My boyfriend's here with me, he considered saying, but those ocean eyes drowned out every reasonable thought in his head. "I'm Keith," he blurted, shoving his left hand forward as his right hand tightened immovably around his drink.

Cracking a grin, the other boy twisted his right arm around to shake Keith's gloved hand. "The name's Lance," he returned, obviously trying but totally failing to hold in his laughter ( _laughter at Keith_ ).

Flushing deeper, Keith reeled in his hand and tucked it in his elbow, fingers burning where he'd made skin-to-skin contact. "You here to see the show?" The boy – Lance – smoothed over his ruffled feathers easily, sliding onto the bar stool next to him, and apparently devoid of any awareness that his left knee happened to settle between Keith's

Choking on a response, Keith took a hasty sip of whiskey to buy time. Lance kept on watching him, azure eyes almost glimmering in the varying lights from the stage area. He had no air of self-consciousness about him, totally at ease; and Keith really shouldn't take that as precedent to relax, but the barest amount of tension melted from his shoulders.

"I'm here with someone; _he_ wanted to see it. His friend's in the band." He shrugged in nonchalance, pretending to nurse his drink but instead watching Lance – rather coquettishly if he felt optimistic – above the rim of his glass. And was that a red bloom to Lance's ears or was it really too dark to tell?

"I'm playing tonight, too. I mean, I'm just opening for the main event. Um… We – I – don't have much of a name here yet. Just trying to get exposure," he rubbed the back of his neck and shifted in his seat, foot knocking Keith's knee hard enough to make him splash whiskey on his shirt as he crossed his legs. "Oh, quiznak, sorry," he blathered and Keith spat into his glass.

"' _Quiznak_?' What the fuck does _that_ mean?" He forgot to hide his grin behind his hand, and seeing it in plain uninhibited view had Lance blushing even brighter.

"I…" Lance spluttered a little, completely off-balance now (it was actually rather cute, but Keith would think about that later, when he was sober). "It… it's a word we made up. Me and a friend. Usually we only use it with each other, I must've been dist—" He abruptly laser-focused his wide eyes, bald mortification on his face at the wicked grin on Keith's. "Whatever you're thinking, _no!_ "

But Keith said nothing, just squinted cheekily at him and turned a little bit away toward the bar counter, feigning devilish secrecy. In reality he had no plans whatsoever to use Lance's made-up words against him, but it was too much fun to make him squirm.

"Come on, man, what'd I ever do to you?" Lance whined – god, even _that_ was frustratingly endearing – scooting forward on his bar stool into Keith's space. Maybe it was his heat or Keith's own awareness of proximity but his entire body flooded with warmth and he sat on edge. _S_ _omething_ could happen here, but the question was—

"Don't tell anyone, okay? I know it's stupid but it's kind of _our_ _word_ , yanno? You know what I mean, right?"

"So how do you conjugate that?" Keith asked, raising a hand to tick off on his fingers, "Quiznakked? Quiznakking?"

"Stop!" Lance protested, pulling Keith's hand down flat to the bar counter, holding it under his. The whiskey glass skidded away. They froze. Lance's long fingers wrapped solidly over Keith's knuckles, curling under his palm where they were long enough to do so. Lance's skin felt warm on the exposed back of his hand, dry and unexpectedly soft like a girl's. The moment lasted forever, but it ended almost immediately as Lance whisked his hand away. "Sorry, I… I gotta go get warmed up. My voice. See ya," and with a raucous clatter of bar stool feet he all but launched himself away from the bar, leaving a thoroughly flustered and incredibly scarlet Keith to gawk at his shaking hands, unsure if he felt dizzy because of the alcohol or because of infatuation hitting him like a sledgehammer. He managed to pull his attention back to whence Lance had disappeared, but of course in the perpetual darkness of the club he couldn't make out a damn thing. But he would be on soon…

"Hey, Keith," Bryce said, sliding his hands along Keith's shoulders so naturally the idea Keith should startle was merely that: a distant idea. His heart quickened a few beats per minute at the sudden invasion of space, but the higher faculties knew Bryce by smell and presence as well as sight and sound and so Keith had only to slide his eyes over to acknowledge Bryce's return.

"Hey," Keith returned dryly, immediately righting his gaze forward as the room tilted.

"How much have you had already?" Bryce harped, giving him a gentle shake.

"Quit it," Keith groused, pushing Bryce's chest to stop him as he squeezed his eyes shut against the vertigo.

"Keith."

"What else was I supposed to do? I'm not going to look for you in _this_." He gestured at the throng of men, many of them twice his size.

To that Bryce had no retort; once was one time too many for him to have to pry wandering hands away from Keith's slender, vaguely androgynous body. At least at the bar counter, the servers kept a weather eye out for tampered drinks and, by proxy, vulnerable customers. But Bryce always had to have the last word, so he at length said, "Still, that's all the more reason you shouldn't trash yourself, especially this early."

"Whatever," Keith mumbled, tilting his glass to eye what was left.

"Another?" The young blond woman tending chirped, looking wary of Bryce's possessive arm around Keith's shoulders.

"He's had enough," Bryce said before Keith could speak up, bodily dragging him off the stool. "Can you at least stay where I can keep an eye on you?"

Wrenching away, Keith scowled. "You're my boyfriend, not my dad. Chill," he spat, straightening his cropped jacket and leading the way to a table toward the front. He threaded to the edge of the crowd in time to see Lance make way toward the mic. He'd changed his shirt; this one set off his bright blue eyes against his deeply tanned skin, and something wound tighter along Keith's spine.

Immediately certain Lance could see him despite the glaring lights pointed at his face, Keith hustled to sit down. Bryce grudgingly took the chair beside him, crossing his legs and sprawling against the back while Keith leaned over his lap, his cold hands trapped into stillness between his thighs. Bryce stared at him, like he might growl, "What's your _deal_?" but couldn't have been heard anyway as the young prettyboy stole every moment he could at the mic.

"How's everybody hangin' tonight?" he crowed, pacing the stage with the mic which he'd taken off the stand, other hand casually slipped into his front jeans pocket. A few whoops and cheers made their way from the back. Lance grinned.

"Just okay, huh? Alright, that's fine, that's what I'm here for." He planted his feet and faced his audience, somehow managing not to squint under the bright lights. Keith wondered how any mortal human could look like airbrushed perfection under such unforgiving lighting.

"So I'll get to the music in just a minute while my bandmates finish tuning and whatnot, but I have a little bit that I've been working on I'd like to share with you." He hooked a finger around the cord and gently whipped it in front of his legs, watching the coils dance – his first sign of nerves Keith had seen, and he played it so _cool_ that Keith hated him for a _fraction_ of a second— "Not really a comedic bit, more something I've been thinking about a lot. A funny little bit of life advice, you might say." He stopped staring toward his toes and looked up with conviction – and Keith's heart stopped for the fraction of eternity he believed that Lance was actually looking _at_ _him_.

"It's about… well, it's kinda silly and predictable, but it's about love." A knowing jeer sounded from the dark rear of the club. Lance grinned sheepishly, bobbing his head in agreement. "I know, I know, but it's something a lot of us think about now and then, right? What is love, will it hurt me—" he paused just a microsecond to see if the joke landed. Someone snorted to Keith's left. "—how do you know if it's even worth trying anymore? Heavy stuff for a young guy like me to ask, I realize." He turned to casually pace the stage again, looking like he was on a casual walk with the audience instead of on a revealing stage, free hand back in his pocket, and holding the mic as naturally as a coffee cup, "But I think if I'm old enough to buy a phone and pay rent and travel on my own, I'm old enough to think seriously about how I might find that right person, yanno?" A few murmurs of assent bubbled up. As if he remembered an inside joke, Lance chuckled a bit before carrying on.

Keith sat entranced, not bothering to even check any expression or reaction for Bryce's sake. Lance's stage presence was mesmerizing; the world could have been in flames around him and Keith would think the heat was his own blistering desire, swiftly consuming him.

"...And I realized as I kept talking to this person, hey, I don't know why, but this one feels different. They're not like the others. And I know everyone says 'you're not like the other girls' or whatever and it's more cliché than sliced bread–" he paused just long enough at what he'd just said, brows cocked like he'd forgotten what he was saying in the middle and found himself lost in the woods, before carrying on over the tiny snickers. "But I think the reason you hear it all the time – cos of _course_ no one's like the others – is because when you meet someone special, you just _know_ . It's not a look or a smell or the color of their eyes. It's an instinct. And you just feel it in every cell of your body that you can't just _let this one go_ ." He paused again, speech and movement, facing his toes forward again. He straightened. Audience members rustled. He glanced over his shoulder at some noise, and when he followed it Keith caught a glimpse of people and instruments by the employee break room door. "Anyway," he said, voice brightening out of its philosophical airs, "I think I met someone like that tonight—" and Keith swore red and blue that Lance's azure eyes flicked right to him for another fraction of eternity, "—and this is cliché, too, but y'all, I am _not_ leaving until I get his number."

A group of young women at a nearby table squealed and cheered as Lance set the mic back on its stand and waved his bandmates into the spotlight. Keith felt hot and cold all over at once, mind spiraling into strobing disarray as he either succumbed to the alcohol or came to grips with the realization Lance could only have been talking about him and he was _right_ he _had to_ be because Keith felt the same about _him_ and—

"Now this isn't one of ours – it's a cover – but it's, uh, it's my sister's favorite song right now, and she wanted me to sing it for her at her wedding in a few months— thank you, you're very kind," he said as scattered applause echoed up to him, "But uh, I can't sing like this guy, Veronica, I told her, but she insisted and, well. Anything for my big sister. So here's something from Troye Sivan, by her adamant request in spirit; it's 'For Him.'"

A few younger members of the audience gasped and clapped at the selection; none of it sounded familiar to Keith, but that quickly ceased to matter as he fell into the cooling river of Lance's vocals, his voice clear and smoother than he would have expected, but still just rough enough around the edges to suggest that playboy persona he liked to exude hadn't gone anywhere at all.

Keith had gone to too many of these things with Bryce where the acoustics sucked and the amps or whatever pumped the music above the voices, but Lance's singing rose through and alongside the instruments, blending with the chorus and punctuating every syllable like its own revelation. Everyone – everything – else surrounding faded away, and Keith sank into the music, the lyrics caressing his skin with feather-light hands, soothing him; teasing him. He closed his eyes, imagining a pitch-black room with just two pendant lights – one over him, one above Lance with his guitar, strumming the gentle melody only for him. He saw it so _clearly_ , that the applause erupting at the ending notes felt deafening and he startled out of a daze, blinking owlishly at the wild college kids cheering and Bryce clapping politely. His hands floated about four inches apart, leather gloves suddenly stifling on his palms. Joining the applause felt… cheap, somehow. Like not enough. Like he should heed the ocean blue eyes centered on him and leap into the stage lights, shouting, "I feel exactly the same!"

And if Bryce weren't there, he just might have done it. But Bryce kept a hawk-like attention on him, especially now that he wavered in his seat, and if they were going to acknowledge their relationship had come to a clear end, it wasn't going to be because Keith had done something so asinine. Lance carried himself like he could get anybody he wanted – and there would be hell to pay if Keith let himself be won over that easily.

He leaned back in his chair, rolling a crick out of his shoulders and crossing a leg over. Blunt fingertips played in the shaggy hair at the back of his neck now he was close enough for Bryce to reach him. He was too drunk to care, even leaning into the light massage. Now and then Bryce gave his nape the gentlest pinch between his nails, setting his imagination ablaze with tantalizing visions of what might happen later, after getting home.

But Bryce wasn't in any of those visions. Not this time.

–

Keith left the table for the bathroom in the break between Lance's set and the headlining performer. Once he finished he splashed cold water on his face, trying to force some clarity into the situation. Logic. Focus… hard to do that when he kept picturing long, deft fingers threading in his sweat-damp hair, ghosting down his overheated arms and clenching stomach, teasing their way even lower to open him up sweetly; that perfect tanned face above his, those svelte hips pushing firmly between his pale, shuddering thighs–

"Snap out of it," he growled at himself, ramming his fist on the bathroom counter. He glared at his reflection, at the deep ruddiness to his white skin. Damn Asian flush, he must have looked absolutely _plastered_ to that stupid prettyboy Lance; why else would someone so charismatic and self-assured (and so obviously out of his league to boot) stoop to flirting with the likes of _him,_ if he didn't look trashed enough he probably wouldn't remember in the morning anyway? Just a joke. Keith's head hung from his shoulders, jaw tense enough to make his teeth hurt. It was all just a joke. Had to be. The bathroom door creaked open and he kept his head down.

"Keith? Right?"

His head bounced up fast enough to give anyone else whiplash – Lance had managed to sneak up on him _again_ , in here, and he had a redness to his cheeks rivaling Keith's – though less pronounced on his darker complexion. "H-hey," Keith managed when it occurred to him he should probably acknowledge the other's presence.

"You don't look so good, dude; have you eaten anything tonight?"

Stop pretending like you care, Keith thought as loudly as he could at him. No reaction. Food sounded like the least pleasant thing in the world right now – the most pleasant being to find a quiet corner and pass out for the rest of the week. He could barely keep his eyes open after standing so long.

When Keith remained silent, maybe turning a little green as the intoxication finally edged up on too much for him, Lance chanced a light brush of his fingers over Keith's shoulder. "I'm gonna get you some water, okay? Don't move in case you gotta hurl." Keith didn't see him leave, barely registered his absence, and before he could notice something had changed Lance was back, holding ice water in front of his mouth. The cooled air awakened Keith's sensibilities somewhat, and he hesitantly wrapped his hand around the offered glass.

"Thanks," he slurred a bit, just fixing his lips on the cold rim, inhaling carefully.

"I didn't do anything to it, if that's what you're wondering," Lance said playfully when a minute passed without Keith taking a sip. "Although, I guess that's what someone who roofied your drink _would_ say." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking much too young to be in this sort of club. "Here," he beckoned for Keith to hand him the glass. Dazed, Keith let him take it, and Lance promptly took three long gulps from the large glass, the bobbing of his Adam's apple causing Keith to almost forget _why_ Lance was drinking it. "There, see?" Lance chirped a little breathlessly, holding the half-full glass back toward Keith with a reassuring grin plastered on his face. "Safe."

Finally accepting that this nuisance of a playboy wasn't going to leave until he decided Keith had been adequately taken care of in the most dull way, Keith turned away and slowly drained the glass, occasionally glancing out the corner of his eye at the other boy.

After there was nothing but ice, Lance took the glass back and filled it again at the sink. "Slowly; don't make yourself sick."

"Make up your mind," Keith mumbled, settling on the floor with his knees drawn up. The bathroom floor of a dubiously sketchy club probably wasn't the best place to sit and potentially black out, but his drunk brain had determined Lance trustworthy enough for the moment, at least to keep his hair clean by virtue of keeping him upright.

"You said you're here with someone, right?" Lance said in darkness – Keith forced his eyelids up for a heroic microsecond, then gave up.

"M'boyfriend," he mumbled, not comprehending why he felt a little stab of warning right as he said that. "Dunno where… prolly still at the… thing," he finished nonchalantly, flipping his wrist to emphasize 'thing' and what he meant as the general direction of Bryce's location. If he'd been able to focus his eyes on anything he might have noticed Lance's entire posture wilting in disappointment. As it was he saw nothing, and only just perceived the strained cheerfulness in Lance's response.

"Want me… Should I go find him?"

Keith shook his head with as much effort as if he was underwater. "Not righ' now," he breathed, slitting his eyes open at Lance, who'd turned bright red again. Or maybe he got Asian flush too, who knows. Keith pressed the bare skin on the back of his gloved hand to his temple; was that too warm?

The door bashed open as someone entered, footsteps squeaking to a halt at the sight of Keith and Lance on the floor.

"There you are. Thought you'd fallen in," Bryce said in exasperation. Lance glanced between them – the burly blond in a flannel shirt and the twiggy grunge kid in ripped skinny jeans tight enough to have been sewn on – and went almost as pale as the tile wall behind him.

"This yours?" he stammered to Keith, jutting his thumb toward Bryce. He clambered out of the way of Bryce's heavy boots as the older male grasped Keith under his armpits and hauled him to his feet.

"What's in that?" he demanded, ripping the water glass out of Keith's pliant hands and scattering ice chips down his front.

"It's just water, Bryce, calm down," Keith snapped, jolted another rung towards projectile vomiting by the sudden shift in gravity. "Lance brought it for me," he explained as Bryce sniffed it. He cast a weary glance at the other boy when Bryce was distracted, trying to convey with an abbreviated shrug that "he's always like this."

"Well, then. I… should probably thank you for looking after him," Bryce said evenly, passing the water to Lance, who took it without protest. Keith didn't see his boyfriend's eyes narrow darkly at Lance's all-too-obvious intrusion; but Lance did, and with a suppressed squeak he bolted out of the room, his retreat covered by the hubbub of club chatter and the next performer's music until the closing door muffled it back to a low hum.

"That was a dick move, don't you think?" Keith observed bitingly, not sure for the moment who he was actually more annoyed with. Heaving a sigh, Bryce skipped the usual lecture about minding who was around him and led Keith out of the bathroom with a heavy palm just below his nape, thumb and fingers wrapped a little more firmly over his shoulders than Keith felt truly necessary.

"Stay where I can see you, you're barely lucid," Bryce said in a low voice as they walked through the now even more packed club, more customers having arrived for the main event. Rolling his eyes, Keith slouched in his chair so low he was almost parallel to the floor. He would listen to Bryce, but he would not grant him any delusion he was happy to do it. Crossing his arms over his ribs, Keith watched the current performance through his eyelashes, not able to make himself care even for Bryce's sake. Even if Keith had full sensibilities about him, he doubted he could have picked out the lyrics despite how close they were. Call it infatuation bias (and hell, at least Keith was able to understand _that_ , Bryce), but this artist couldn't capture the audience's attention the way Lance had. He looked too arrogant to get anyone on his side, too serious to risk making a fool of himself in pursuit of ingratiating himself to a disloyal crowd.

When Bryce wasn't paying as much attention Keith tried to search the room for a glimpse of startling blue eyes, of cinnamon-colored skin in this teeming blackness. But even as he kept his hopes stubbornly lifted, his heart sank. He knew all too well how much of a physical threat Bryce could pose at the drop of any hat. That was the only reason he'd managed to hold on to Keith for himself – he had no difficulty forcing other curious parties to back off before they could get their hooks into him.

Until tonight, Keith mused, his head spinning from more than drink as he revisited his earlier fancies of dark slim hands groping along his starkly white flesh, velvet lips on his and a lithe thigh guiding his knees apart. What would Lance taste like, if Keith got a chance to kiss him? Keith thought of smooth, sweet mango, of fresh homemade bread. Or maybe Lance would taste like fragrant spice. Or maybe, ideally, something to complement whiskey, so he wouldn't be too disgusted by Keith tonight.

Tonight—

It had to be tonight. Keith _needed_ it to happen tonight. With an ungraceful lurch he scooted upright in his chair, whipping his gaze around fast enough to make him dizzy.

"'T's up?" Bryce asked, clasping a hand on Keith's shoulder.

"I need some air, I think, I…" Reeling in the grasp of vertigo, Keith pitched forward with a groan, head pressed between his knees and arms wrapped around his churning stomach.

"Whoa, okay, breathe. Hang in there," Bryce said, lightly raking his blunt fingers over his trembling spine, "After this song we'll go outside, alright?"

Keith gave a muffled low in response, swallowing against rising nausea, heart beating so hard and fast he felt it in his throat.

"You gonna throw up?" Bryce asked with trepidation, like he might jinx it into happening by merely saying it. Moaning, Keith squirmed in his seat, trying to think of anything _but_ throwing up even as bile sluiced up his esophagus.

"Sorry," he managed to choke out as he forced himself to his feet, breaking out of Bryce's hold and making as straight a dash as he could manage for the alley-side door – the bathroom was too far. He crashed out the door just in time to bend double and void his stomach of everything he had eaten since that morning, abdomen convulsing as it emptied itself completely. Wheezing by the end, quivering like a leaf in a gale, Keith tipped back onto his rump after the attack ended, folding his knees up and huddling against the wall as the cold set in. The mid-autumn chill felt like a salve on his burning, sweaty face, but he'd left his jacket inside and had only a well-worn tank top shielding him from the frosty bite in the air. " _Fuck_ ," he groaned, letting the back of his head hit the brick wall behind him, feeling too shaky to stand, let alone hobble back inside. There was nothing for it but to wait for Bryce to come and get him. Again.

Soon enough he heard the door creak open next to him. Without bothering to look he grumbled, "I'm guessing you don't want head at this point."

"Uhm?!"

That wasn't Bryce.

Keith whirled his head up fast enough to knock him sideways onto his elbow, gaping mortified at Lance's blanched face. "Uh, I thought you were… Shit," he moaned as he covered his face with his hands, swearing six ways to Sunday he could feel his balls retreating into his body high enough to be mistaken for ovaries on an x-ray.

"Hey, not judging what you like or whatever," Lance said, voice cracking, "Just, yanno, maybe not tonight, yeah? Or at least brush your teeth first." A strong hand wrapped around his elbow and helped him up, a second hand hooking under his armpit to bring him standing. "You're toast, man. Where's your boyfriend?"

Keith shrugged. Lance was here; humiliating exchange aside, he was glad for that and couldn't bring himself to care about much else. "Probably not my boyfriend anymore, after tonight," he lamented, allowing himself to fall against Lance's chest. If he took the opportunity to peek through his lashes up at Lance in the way that always compelled Bryce to cave to him, he wasn't above admitting it was only because it worked – the green naivety in front of him had zero chance of resisting. "What are you doing out here?"

"Saw you running. Had to make sure you were okay." He shrugged like it was just that simple, Keith knew better by now.

"Hm." Keith's fingers hooked idly into Lance's front belt loops, the weight of his hand displacing the waistband enough to expose the hem of Lance's navy-colored boxers. Lance flushed when he realized where Keith's eyes had wandered in turn, gently prying the gloved hands away.

"Easy, samurai," he whispered, stunned with desire in the face of Keith's boldness.

"Is that cos I'm Asian?" Keith snarked, narrowing his large eyes in what he hoped looked like a warning glare but just made him look squinty and confused. Suppressing a laugh, Lance pushed a rogue lock of black hair out of Keith's face.

"It was that or ninja, except I can see you," he explained.

Keith frowned. "I'm Korean," he deadpanned.

"Oh." Abashed, Lance broke his gaze away, shuffling his feet and retracting his hands into his coat pockets. Blinking, Keith wrapped his arms around himself again, shivering, watching Lance with catlike scrutiny. Waiting.

Lance cleared his throat and moved aside, opening a path through the door. A cold pall of anguish flooded Keith's veins and he nearly dropped his arms in disbelief – how could he have misread everything so horrendously if things were only going to end like this? – but he managed to suppress his disappointment to simply an aghast jaw drop, which he corrected almost as quickly as it happened and cleared his throat in tandem. "Well," he spoke, eyes on the ground, "I guess I should get back inside. To. To my boyfriend." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He laid his palm on the door to push it open.

"Keith, wait."

A clammy hand gripped his other wrist, a second wrapped across his jaw, and before Keith could connect any dots warm lips melded softly with his; and without a second thought Keith invited him in, breathing deeply the scent of Lance which was better than anything he could have imagined. Lance cupped his face with both hands now, tilting his chin back to deepen the kiss, either unbothered or at least not caring about the sour taste in Keith's mouth, because what lay alongside it was too enticing to pass up. Miraculously they both remembered to breathe – Lance, for all his talk, could actually back up his projected prowess with experienced kissing to match everything Keith ever had from Bryce.

Lance groaned through another inhale, wrapping his arms around Keith, one hand finding the hair at his nape, the other bracing his lower back as he slid his tongue over Keith's. Dizzied by euphoria, Keith had only a vague sense of his fingers clenching around Lance's muscled shoulders, his pelvis bowing forward as Lance leaned him back just enough to dominate the kiss.

" _Mmf_ —" Keith tried to say something, but Lance's skilled fingertips raked across the back of his ear just so and he _melted_ , eyelids fluttering against his cheeks as he shivered into a pliant puddle in Lance's arms. He could do anything he wanted now, and Keith would beg for more—

"You okay?" Lance said above him, the taste of his chapstick lingering on Keith's lips – vanilla and rose, a helpful little voice supplied. Dazed beyond coherency, Keith nodded, briefly cracking a weak grin.

"I don't usually… Shit," he scoffed, shaking his head. The world straightened on its axis as Lance gathered him upright, holding him flush against his chest, and hips, and thighs. Keith couldn't decide whose heart beat faster, blood rushing through his ears and drowning out the club noise but not his breathing, not Lance's. He felt acutely aware of long slim hands around his shoulders and waist, his arms linked in rest behind Lance's neck. And he felt so _warm_. Self-conscious, Keith dipped his forehead to Lance's collarbone (it seemed less trouble than struggling out of his embrace), suppressing a hysterical giggle.

"You're so ridiculous," he said, because he couldn't say "gorgeous" just yet.

"And you are drunk. And also ridiculous," Lance retorted, skating his fingertips up and down Keith's spine. "And also cold. Let's get you inside."

Inside. Keith dug his heels against Lance's encouraging lean toward the door and planted his palms on the front of Lance's shoulders, preparing to push him away. Inside was— It had to be trouble. If Bryce didn't see Lance going outside after him, then he would see them together as they came back in.

"What is it?" Lance said. "Your boyfriend?"

"I'm sorry," Keith mumbled, biting his lip so it wouldn't twist up in shame. "I shouldn't've—" He turned away and Lance let him go. "I'm sorry." He took a step back, glanced up through his eyelashes at Lance's stricken face, then ducked inside the club.

He made something passing for eye contact with Bryce before veering toward the bathroom to rinse his mouth – clean off Lance's scent and taste before they went home, if Bryce even wanted anything to do with him anymore tonight. He could feign revulsion that another man had gotten his hands on Keith and ostracize him to his own house, or take an excuse for vengeance by reclaiming Keith's body and hands and mouth in every way he knew how (and sometimes, it was worth capturing the attentions of another human being just for nights like those).

And maybe if it was the latter, it would help fill the stark emptiness in Keith's chest now that he'd forced himself to leave Lance behind. But if it was the former, Keith would deserve it anyway.

Bryce said nothing when Keith returned to him, merely flicked his jade eyes up to pin him in his place, then looked listlessly back toward the stage, fingers idly swinging in time with the slower melody. Watching the thick tips, remembering all the times they'd pushed through him, crawled up inside, Keith felt hot with shame the moment he imagined them longer, slimmer; reaching into the core of him, while Lance's tongue lapped at his neck.

They needed to break up _now_ , Keith accepted. If they remained together, Keith would never be able to get Lance out of his head. His specter would always loom in the background of their frenzied rutting, discoloring every taste, touch, thrust. Keith had fallen hard in spite of himself; he couldn't promise his obsession wouldn't make him sigh out the wrong name in the throes of climax, and he had a disturbing feeling he couldn't expect Bryce's forgiveness if he did.

The club had emptied as the night deepened. Otherwise, Bryce's heavy palm probably wouldn't have settled so high on Keith's leg, just a finger-width away from the juncture of his hip. The longer of his fingers inched down toward the sensitive patch inside his thigh, the smallest boldly dragging over him, sending tight sparks of pleasure up his back and making him slam his knees together.

Sex tonight, then. Keith gripped the ends of his armrests tightly, white-knuckled and digging his nails into the dark-stained wood, just managing to control his breathing. Inhale on the way down, exhale on the way up.

"I saw that kid run out after you," Bryce said under the cadence of the music. Keith winced, anxieties confirmed. With bated breath he watched out the corner of his eye as Bryce, solemnly contemplative, leaned harder towards him.

" _Hh_ ah!" he gasped when Bryce palmed him through his jeans, whimpering at the slowly increasing pressure.

"Do you wanna go home with _him_ tonight? That _prettyboy twink_?" Bryce crooned in his ear, circling a fingertip around his head. A quick dig into his perineum, and then Bryce's hand withdrew to wander across hip under the hem of his shirt. "You really want to toss me aside for some Bieber wannabe?" Bryce's smallest finger slipped under his waistband, tickling toward his entrance. "I can fuck you so senseless you can't even say my name anymore when you cum. What makes you think he's any better than me, if he's any good at all?"

" _Hmmmm_ stop—!" Keith whined, arching away from Bryce's probing hand. How could he begin to make Bryce understand even a fraction of the maelstrom in his head, the galloping pace of his heart when he thought of Lance's voice, remembered how his deeply tanned and toned arms felt so _right_ around his body? Nothing had ever happened in his time with Bryce to make him feel the way Lance had managed in just a few minutes. That boy was special – and Keith couldn't even muster up any hatred toward himself for actually thinking it.

"Are you _really_ that desperate to keep me around?" he said through his teeth, staring Bryce down. Bryce planted his hand above his belt, lingered.

"You don't know if he even has a day job, Keith. You don't know if he's got anything better than a van to live in. And just suppose he ever manages to make it big – where the fuck does that leave you?"

"I don't care if he has money," Keith snapped, indignant, wishing to crawl out of his skin if Bryce didn't take his damn hand off him. "I'm not asking him to provide for me— I am not your _wife_ , Bryce."

Bryce sobered at that (in a manner of speaking), withdrawing and staring forlornly at his hands between his knees. A shadow of epiphany flew across his face: Keith truly wanted to leave with Lance, and moreover they might not get another chance to speak about this. "I… You know I miss her. I missed having someone next to me in bed."

"That's _all_ we do, Bryce. We talk in class, maybe. I come over, we fuck, and then I go home." He shifted his legs, gripping the sides of his chair to steel himself. "And maybe that was okay at first – shit, it was _better_ than okay – and I think that was all we needed at the start but… Dude, we don't even kiss anymore unless you're trying to keep me quiet for the neighbors or some hobo walking by. It's not enough." _For either of us._ As they beat their dying relationship, Bryce had become possessive; Keith had turned further inward. This bond, now a chain, strangled rather than anchored. "I was a rebound fuck that lasted too long. That's it." Though he shook with nerves, the more Keith spilled out the braver he felt; the light of freedom glowed stronger on the horizon, calling him with the shape of Lance. "You can do better than me."

(Well, honestly, Lance could also do better – but he didn't need to find that out until after this night ended.)

He leaned away from Bryce's impulsive grasp. "You can't tell me I'm wrong."

And although he knew Bryce could only agree, it bothered him that the man still looked so _sad_ about it. "You're right, Keith." Somehow he also looked relieved. "I thought it was just me. Didn't wanna believe I'd made the same mistake twice." Keith felt his shoulders drop; Bryce didn't seem conscious of how much that stupid turn of phrase hurt. Then Bryce's mouth turned up hopefully. "We still had some good times, though; didn't we?"

Keith nodded – he could agree with that, at least. For the first time since his father had walked out on him, Keith had felt wanted by someone; needed, even. Required for someone else's happiness.

"Do you hate me now?" Bryce asked quietly, as the music had dropped off at the close of another song. Probably too quickly, Keith shook his head.

"No."

"But... Lance?"

After a moment's hesitation, Keith dipped his chin once in a decisive nod, blinking rapidly against a sudden spring of small tears.

"Keith," Bryce sighed, scooting closer to lay a hand on Keith's shoulder. Keith let him. Ending the relationship was harder than they could have predicted but he couldn't spare the energy to be an ass. "I don't want you to screw up like I did, at least. Are you sure about this guy?" Keith just fidgeted with a thread of dry skin at his cuticle, avoiding commitment even now Bryce had let him go. "You okay to even go look for him?" Lost in his unanticipated grief, Keith nodded wordlessly, scrubbing his face with his palms. A flash of determination pulsed through him and he sat up in his chair, craning his dried face for any sign of Lance. "Can I help?"

Keith looked back to saddened green eyes, at the flicker in their depths that begged he answer 'no.'

Offering a condoling half-smile, Keith returned, "It's probably better if I go alone." He lingered only long enough to catch Bryce's final nod.

"See you in class," Bryce said with a forced casual air as Keith turned away, and then he vanished into the darkness toward the back of the club.

Enough people had gone home that if Lance was still here, he shouldn't be that hard to find. Keith scoped out the bathroom and alley first, then walked the perimeter of the bar area to see if he could catch sight of him. As more time passed without a sign, Keith grew more anxious. Lance had… Lance had wanted his number, hadn't he? Wasn't that right? Or did Keith having a boyfriend already cancel that future? Palms sweating now, Keith redoubled his searching efforts, examining every silhouette and shadow for Lance's features, scrutinizing eyes and lips and hands.

Nothing.

He couldn't see Lance anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance, ya nasty.
> 
> (Shout-out to emetophiliacs. Not my thing, but I know you're out there.)
> 
> If you haven't heard Jeremy Shada sing yet, go look it up on YouTube. You're welcome.


	2. Every lover known in comparison is a failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Is it too soon to do this yet? / Cos I know that it's delicate... isn't it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey it's me again.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos, et al., friends. I'm glad you like my outrageously self-indulgent nonsense.

_How could he have been so_ _**stupid**_ _?_

Clenching his fists, Keith tramped through the door into the chill evening air, momentarily blinded by the streetlights and headlights until he managed to seat himself on the curb to wrack his head over… what a _mess._

Some people milled around the entrance, smoking. The acrid fumes made Keith's eyes sting and water but he suffered through it. He couldn't go back in there and tell Bryce he'd failed. He'd rather have no ride home tonight.

…It couldn't be _that_ much too far to walk…

It was dark enough and Keith was still drunk enough and now he certainly allowed himself to feel distraught enough to let the hot tears well up in his eyes as he dipped his head toward his knees, fingers clenching in his hair with gradually increasing tautness as his misery climbed higher. The humiliation alone was almost enough to drive him back to Bryce, rather than spend the night disastrously alone with his self-flagellation and more booze than anyone should allow him. His breaths shuddered in lieu of pitiful sobs, suppressed as much as he could to avoid drawing more attention than he might have already. Miraculously, no one bothered him during the several long minutes he cried on the curb, so much so that when the peak of emotion passed him by and he found a natural descent back into calm, Keith couldn't convince himself that he was really still there, and awake, and in desperate need of a way home, dignity be damned. Wiping his face, Keith cleared his throat and wrapped his arms around his chest as he leaned into his thighs, breaking the wind chill marginally. He didn't have spare change for a taxi, having naively decided to rely on Bryce for all expenses tonight. Could he go back in and ask for a few bucks to pay back later, if not one last ride back to his house? He cast a glance over his shoulder at the door. Bryce probably would have gotten his attention if he was leaving. The worst he could say was "no."

Resigning himself, Keith set his palms on his knees and rocked forward slightly, pushing himself to standing. He straightened his shirt and tugged his jacket sleeves into place, clearing his throat again before stepping up onto the sidewalk. One last look. He would search one last time for Lance, just to be _really_ sure.

Keith didn't have to search for long. He spotted Lance almost instantly, sitting at the head of the bar with what looked like a mojito next to his wrist slack on the counter. He had been looking toward the stage, but he pivoted eyes first toward the door when Keith entered, his entire face lighting up with the largest smile that Keith had ever seen. He couldn't hold down an awkward grin back, cemented in place as the butterflies swarmed his stomach and lungs, overwhelming any other logical thought he could have had in place of carouseling nonsense such as "oh my god he's looking at me" or "shit he's so pretty what do I do" or even "how does anyone even function around this kid cos I can't either."

Yet like a magnet Keith felt compelled to rush toward him, the urge rising over the threshold of stricken panic and drawing one foot in front of the other, closer, around tables and chairs and closer. Lance's smile never faltered, and the warmth in his eyes glowed brighter the nearer Keith came, until he stood at Lance's hip with his thumbs hooked in his front pockets – a reversal of their first encounter barely hours ago that night.

"Hey, man," Lance said, swiveling just enough for his thigh to rest against Keith's; a warm buzzing feeling pulsed from his low back.

"Hi," Keith said, face flushing as Lance's perfect blue eyes continued to never leave his face. "Did…" he let a crooked smirk have its way, "Did you get his number yet?"

Lance laughed; it lifted everything from Keith's shoulders.

"Do you even have a phone?" Lance asked knowingly, his voice keenly indulgent. Abashed, Keith shook his head. "I don't know how you get by without one, but I'm not surprised. You don't seem like the type," he added when Keith quirked a confused eyebrow at him. He shrugged, uncrossing his legs and leaning his hands onto his knees. "So, what now?" He craned up at Keith expectantly, almost seeming to hold his breath. Unused to this kind of agency, Keith rubbed the back of his scorching neck.

"Well, I mean… If you wanna talk, I could use a ride home. It's not far, I just don't wanna walk this late at night," he mumbled, realizing how immature and lame he sounded but unable to stop himself. He was just being honest.

"No problem," Lance said without missing a beat, downing the rest of his drink. "It's virgin. I'm always DD for my friends so I ordered it out of habit," he said with a reassuring wink and he tipped the bartender before standing, slinging his coat over his shoulders. "C'mon, my car's out back," he said, beckoning for Keith to follow him. He waited without turning away for Keith to take the first step forward, as if to make sure he would follow; he didn't start walking himself until Keith was right beside him, hooking a hand around his wrist to guide him. Stumbling, Keith blushed and opened his clenched fist to catch himself— and Lance slipped his palm against Keith's, locking their fingers together. And Lance's hand was so _warm_ against Keith's, even through his glove, he thought in half-seriousness that he might have actually melted away had his palm been bare.

Lance walked him out once more into the night, and the stars seemed to shine brighter where Keith could glimpse them through the streetlamps; and the air tasted crisper, and the sounds of the neighborhood seemed less grating, now Lance was with him. "Over here," Lance prompted, pointing a set of keys at a blue sedan with blinking headlights.

"This is yours?" Keith said half in awe, half in trepidation. The car was an older model, paint job rough around the edges, but had obviously been lovingly maintained with not one spot of rust.

"This is Blue," Lance said, patting the hood affectionately as he strode around to the driver's side. He unlocked the door, pitched forward across the center console once he was inside, and pulled up the pinlock on the passenger side. Keith shuffled the door open and slid in. "They don't make 'em like this anymore." Keith didn't know all that much about cars but he couldn't help silently agreeing with Lance that this one was special. He settled more comfortably against the seat, idly watching Lance twiddle the dials on the radio after starting up the engine. "So which way?" Lance asked with his phone out when he had given up finding an agreeable station. Keith sat up, peering around to reorient himself.

"Uh, do you know where the community college is?" he went with, after realizing he hadn't paid any attention while Bryce was driving, "I can get you to it from there."

"No problem," Lance said. He frowned at an impulsive thought, "You don't know your own address?"

Keith shrugged. "No one's got any reason to mail me things."

"Dude…" Lance trailed off, "No phone, no way to find you; are you on witness protection or something?"

Feeling self-conscious and wishing desperately Lance would drop the subject, he merely said, "I just prefer to stay off the grid, or whatever." He could feel Lance side-eyeing him. "I don't like people knowing how to find me. That's all." He shrugged again and curled in on himself slightly, hoping Lance would think he was just cold, or maybe even dizzy. He hoped he didn't look as isolated as he felt, saying those words out loud.

"In that case," Lance began slowly, as if he was taste-testing the words while he spoke them, "Would you feel better if I took you to my place for the night? Then maybe you can get a cab ride home in the morning and you won't have to worry about me randomly showing up on your doorstep or something." He gave a nonchalant nod of his head when Keith gaped wide-eyed at him. "Just promise you won't slit my throat while I sleep. But, either way is fine."

And the more Keith thought about it the more he accepted that he couldn't let anyone into his home, such as it was – that was the one thing he had all to himself; Bryce had never even been there.

But could he spend this night with Lance, this overall enchanting boy he'd just met, and keep any sort of rein on what might happen between them? Could he forgive himself if he passed up all chances? Would he loath himself forever if he let things go too far?

What would even be "too far" with someone he couldn't help feeling so sure about?

Closing his eyes, Keith weighed the options in his mind's eye. Finally, the scales tipped with a decisive, echoing _clang_.

Violet eyes opened and shone in Lance's direction; the other boy blinked rapidly as careful hope struck into him. Keith finally answered, "Your place is fine."

–

Lance's apartment building sat in the midst of suburbia, the landscaping hedges neatly trimmed and the gate shut tight. "Hold on," Lance mumbled, digging a fob with house keys out of a jacket pocket; the property gate rolled open. "I'm on the top floor. We can take the elevator," he said as he pulled into a reserved spot, groping for the trunk release once he shut off the engine. Keith shivered at the nose of the car while Lance wrestled a guitar case out of the back, and together they entered the building and made way for the elevator.

"You doin' okay?" Lance asked when Keith swayed a little on his feet. Still basking in a pleasant internal warmth that hadn't quite abandoned him since first getting in the car with Lance, Keith simply nodded. He closed his eyes to the hum of the ascending elevator car, feeling the way Lance's comfortable heat radiated gently along his torso. They were very close. He could lean over and kiss him, if he wanted.

The bell rang for their arrival and Lance hooked an arm through his, hands in his pockets again as he led Keith along. "It's just down this way. It's a bit of a mess right now, I'm kind of still unpacking."

"When did you move?" Keith asked conversationally as they fell in step down the hall.

"About… a month ago, now? We all moved, me and my bandmates."

"That's unusual, isn't it?" Keith said, genuinely perplexed at this happenstance. Lance chuckled knowingly.

"We were all in college together and after we all graduated, we didn't wanna give up on what we had. Pidge landed a job out here, and that was that." They'd stopped; Lance fished the keys out of his jeans pocket and unlocked the door in a seamless motion, barely an extraneous sound. "Hunk splits rent with me, but he won't be back for a while – he's got a _girl_ , now," Lance continued, and the way he emphasized "girl" sounded so close to southern Keith wondered if he might not be making fun of him. But Lance seemed quite pleased for his friend, so maybe Lance had merely picked up on that accent since moving here, and hadn't been mocking Keith at all. "Anyway, home sweet home. _Mi casa es su casa_ ," he said fluidly, making a grand gesture at the delightfully cluttered apartment spread before them. "Unless it's Hunk's. He likes things in their place, but he doesn't actually care so long as you put it back."

"I won't touch anything," Keith said quickly, taking tentative steps into the entryway. He unzipped and slipped out of his boots and lined them up neatly at the door, but hesitated to shrug off  his jacket just yet. Lance was still wearing his for the moment, brushing past him and switching on lights as he went. Soon there came the sound of running tap water from the kitchen. "You want a soda, or tea? Hunk found this hibiscus tea that's really good."

Keith rubbed his arms uncertainly, edging toward the sounds of Lance puttering around on the linoleum. He'd set mugs on the island when Keith walked in, and a mustard-colored tea kettle sat on a lit gas burner.

"Just water is fine," Keith murmured, mentally berating himself for suddenly feeling so cripplingly self-conscious.

"You sure?" Lance asked but he'd already turned with the forest-green mug toward the large sink, checking Keith with observant eyes as he filled it. Keith nodded, mouthing "thanks" when Lance handed the mug to him. A knot of concern pinched Lance's brows together while he watched Keith take the first sip, but he didn't pry any further and resumed fixing tea for himself at least, as if nothing he found peculiar had happened.

In just a few minutes they were seated on opposite sides ends of the squishy couch (clearly second-hand if the stuffing bursting out of one arm was anything to go by), Lance relaxed with one ankle hiked onto the opposite knee, nursing a navy blue mug between his hands. Keith sat with his knees curled up against his body, holding a steaming green mug close to his chest (he'd relented and finally agreed to the hibiscus tea), breathing in the floral vapors and privately imagining a tropical beach with just the two of them – Lance seemed like someone who'd like the beach. Keith preferred hunkering down with a book and perhaps a glass of Moscato if Jack Daniels was unavailable; but for a guy like Lance, he could switch for a beach towel under a giant umbrella with a strawberry daiquiri.

"So, I never got to ask," Lance said slowly, turning his mug in his hands; Keith perked up his ears with some trepidation, and Lance continued, "Your boyfriend?"

Allowing a wan smile, Keith shook his head. "We ended it. Mutually. We should've ended things a long time ago." Lance's deep frown compelled him to elaborate. "We're good, honestly. Just. We didn't have any reason to stay together except…" he flicked his hand a little in front of his chest, trying to call up the words. His eyes landed on his palm, guarded by curled fingers and shielded by worn-out leather. His mouth closed. He didn't know what Bryce had felt like under his hands; he'd never taken off his gloves in any of their times together, and Bryce had never asked. Still staring, Keith focused back on their conversation again. "I guess we just preferred it to being alone."

"I can understand that. I've done that, too," Lance responded, his voice a little distant compared to earlier. He looked a little remorseful, but Keith wouldn't ask – not his business. At length Lance's face brightened again and he switched one leg over the other. "Anyway, it's good that you're able to stay friends with him." He smiled, reminiscing again, "I'm still BFFs with one of mine, but she's got a husband now, so I guess I missed my second chance there." He grinned at Keith, who gave what he felt was a mandatory chuckle back before turning in to his tea. It had cooled enough to take a small sip at a time. When he looked up again Lance's posture mirrored his own: knees drawn up but not so high as to obscure him from view. "So, you know I do music. You know I love my family enough to dedicate songs to them in spirit, you know I'm living here with some old friends." He raised an eyebrow in time with his mug to take a sip. "What about you, Keith?"

Swallowing thickly, Keith fumbled silently for words, unsure how much he really wanted to say. "Uhm, well… I was born here. In Texas. Grew up here." He cast aside for anything actually interesting. "Not really sure what I wanna do, yet. I thought about maybe the army, but I'm really not good at taking orders, so that fell out pretty quickly." He shrugged. "So now I'm just getting my AA while I try to think of something else."

"Do you work?" Lance prompted, taking another sip of tea while Keith was in the middle of one himself. He shook his head while he quickly swallowed.

"N-no. No. I… It's kinda complicated." He didn't want to get into living off an inheritance that he hadn't even known about until after his father died when he was nineteen. Or how he'd fought for his independence from an age even younger than that when enduring the roulette of foster homes finally became too much.

"No worries, that's none of my business," Lance said, holding a palm up to gently stop him. "That's nice, though, if you don't have to work. Being a musician's not that glamorous either, now that I'm into it." He gave a reassuring smile. "I wouldn't trade it for the world, though. I meet some pretty cool people." And his eyes lingered on Keith until he flushed red again and ducked his head. "You really don't talk much, do you? That's cool, I just kinda wanna know what's on your mind."

Keith held his tongue, preferring to get a handle on his whirling thoughts before he said anything critically stupid. Lance was everything he'd never seen for a very long time – and maybe (very likely) they weren't going to be forever, but they could be _something_ if he didn't fuck things up in the next 24 hours. He circled half the rim of his mug with a tentative finger, watching the change in the light playing on the surface of his tea.

"I'm curious…" He considered biting his tongue, keeping it to himself. "I'm wondering why you ever walked up to me in the first place." Some of the warmth he'd taken from his drink sapped out of him and he couldn't look at Lance – like if the enchanting boy got a good look at him in this light he would see everything wrong, every reason he should cast him out right now.

He felt Lance's shift in position, but only saw a foot slide closer to him. "I used getting a round for my table as an excuse. It was too dark to really see you until I got to the bar." His smile didn't become any broader – rather, distressingly, it shrank – but it seemed to increase in depth somehow, showing only a hint of elation on the placid surface. "Didn't expect you to be so forward, but I liked that."

Keith vaguely remembered introducing himself; he more immediately flashed back to a vision of his left palm out in the air and he hid his face.

"I'm not usually such a doofus—" he tried to say but Lance cut him off.

"It was really cute."

_What?_

The surprise pulled Keith's head up to see Lance beaming at him, somehow feeling closer despite remaining on the far end of the couch. "I thought _you_ were really cute."

Stunned and in lack of a more measured response Keith blurted, "S-shut your quiznak!"

Groan-laughing, Lance fell back with a palm slapped to his face. "Good god, that's _not_ how you use it!" he said in a reedy voice shaking with contained mirth. "It's more like… basically it's a swear word. Think of it like that."

Heart hammering – _cute,_ _**cute**_ _, he thought Lance was cute and Lance thought_ _**he** _ _was cute too_ – Keith stammered, "So… shut your… quiznak?"

Lance stared incredulously at him.

"'Ass' isn't a swear?"

Snorting, Lance pitched forward this time, unable to suppress his laughter. "Oh my god, what planet are you even from?" he squealed, tears in his eyes when he came back up for air. " _No!_ " he wheezed, giving up on coherent speech in the hysteria of late-night antics such as, apparently, teaching an appalling n00b how to conjugate and use a made-up word. "Just… okay, I'll rephrase. It's specifically the 'f' word, okay? Just… yeah." He snickered into his hand for another moment, face reddening as he fought to catch his breath. "Oh my god, that was magical."

Keith thought about telling him to stop laughing – until he realized that Lance wasn't really laughing at _him_ , but more the situation. And, it actually was pretty funny, although he felt too shy in the wake of this burst of rowdiness to join in. So he ducked his face behind his tea, watching Lance again. Honestly, he could stare at that boy forever.

"I mean it, though," Lance said quietly, and this time he really had scooted closer on the couch, so Keith could rest an outstretched foot in his lap if he wanted. His heart sped up again. "And I meant everything I said on that stage."

Accepting that this was really happening – and god, how he wanted this to be real – Keith relaxed his legs, crossing one in front and letting the other fall of the couch.

"You didn't play that song for your sister." Filled with a steady confidence, Keith watched his words land and make azure eyes blink and widen, the ruse broken.

"I was going to anyway, but later in the set. And then I saw you right there, practically in the front row. I felt like you were specifically _watching_ me… And I just had to take my shot before it was too late," he finished with a sheepish grin.

Keith smirked at him, triumphant. He put his tea down as he noticed Lance had done the same. "So I'm that special, huh?" he suggested, riding that last bit of false confidence and swagger he could wrangle out of the remaining dregs of his intoxication, in hopes that maybe – _maybe_ – he could get this night to end the way he wanted it to. He could tell himself how stupid this was in the morning, he could scream about being _such_ an idiot when he got home. Here and now was Lance, and he looked and sounded and – oh god, he was even closer now and leaning in with shuttered eyes – he felt perfect and maybe Keith was everything opposite, deserved everything but someone like Lance; but here and now he needed to pretend a man like Lance could stay with a man like him.

" _Mmf_ …" Keith sighed against Lance's mouth, letting him push his back against the throw cushion behind him, hips sliding down as Lance crawled over his body, hands in each other's hair and Lance's knee brushing up between his thighs. Keith groaned and pressed up into him, fisting the collar of Lance's shirt and wrapping his fingers across his nape, nails digging minutely as need festered in his belly. Lance grinned around his lips. He trailed a soft hand along Keith's jaw, traced his way down his neck and collarbone, fingertips dipping under Keith's shirt to massage lightly into his shoulder. His leg pressed more firmly against Keith's pelvis and he whined softly, grinding into it more insistently.

"Are you still drunk?" Lance whispered when he broke away to let them breathe, his face hovering only millimeters above his. Gasping, heated and desperate for more, Keith licked his lips – that vanilla chapstick again, mixed with hibiscus tang – and shook his head. His fingers languidly circled the point of Lance's shoulder blade, trying to distract himself from the rushing heat pulsing in his groin. Lance chastely kissed the corner of his mouth. "Are you sure? You still smell like it." He resisted Keith's tugging him down. "I know you came to _me_ in the end, but I wanna be sure you want this." And Keith let him go then, disheartened, but Lance didn't leave; he stayed propped on his elbows above him, eyes ocean-blue in the low evening light. And Keith felt certain enough that Lance wanted this every bit as much as him, but he couldn't miss the tenuous conflict in the shadows of his piercing gaze – the fear of what if – _what if_?

"You think I'd decide I regret this?" Keith hissed, loss stinging in the corners of his eyes.

"No, no, I don't mean it like that," Lance stammered, brushing the small angry tears away, kissing his forehead placatingly. "I… I just want…" he couldn't find the right way to finish, giving it up and looking down at him with beseeching eyes. They cooled the flames in Keith's chest and he let out a weary sigh, setting his face and mouth in guarded hard lines. "I'm sorry," Lance sighed at last, closing the distance between them as he rested his chest on Keith's, tucking his face in the crook of Keith's neck. "I ruined it."

"You didn't," Keith whispered, emotionally empty this time. "You were right. Maybe we shouldn't right now."

Lance's body quaked with a shallow chuckle. "Sorry to fuck up your night."

Keith's lip twitched. "Shouldn't it be 'quiznak' up?"

Lance snorted and lightly slapped his shoulder. "You stop that." He turned his face toward Keith's ear. "You're not mad?"

Keith shrugged as well as he could with 180 pounds of lean dead-weight on him. "Can… can we do it in the morning?" He felt the rising temperature of Lance's skin as he blushed all the way down to his chest.

"If you still want it, sure?" his voice came muffled in the pillow, pitched incredulously high at the end. Smiling to himself, Keith drew a leg up and wrapped it over Lance's, as if he could anchor him in place. He felt comfortable, not actually too heavy; he could stay here a while. Linking his arms around Lance's torso felt more secure.

"No, I'm not mad," he sighed, closing his eyes.

–

Waking up happened so slowly Keith thought he must still be dreaming. First he had an awareness of a deep warmth along his back and legs. Then he felt something draped across his chest and a contrasting chill on his bare arms. He shifted, his hip sinking further into the crevasse between two couch cushions as he shrugged off the night's stiffness. His mind still sluggish, Keith forced his eyes half-open, feeling the crust at the rims itch as it split between his lashes. He immediately blinked hard, scrunching his eyelids as he couldn't exactly reach his face right now; the arms wrapped around him limited his range of motion.

 _Lance_ , his awakening brain supplied, like falling dead asleep next to someone he'd just met was the most obvious thing he could do.

Well, not to say he'd never done it before, but sex usually happened first.

This felt nice, too, though; no sticky griminess from dried sweat and cum, no ache in his hips or any raw feeling inside. Just Lance's slow, rhythmic breathing at the back of his neck and a real genuine coziness that Keith often forgot he needed until he somehow managed to find it again.

Lance hummed in his sleep and pulled Keith even closer to his chest, nose burrowing in the long hairs at the back of his neck. The boy sighed, then resumed his sleeping pattern of deep inhales, his warm exhalations ghosting down the back of Keith's neck and inadvertently waking the rest of his senses. Heart pounding, Keith wondered if he could coax the dozing boy next to him to allow enough slack so he could lie on his back – he wanted to watch him, wanted to know what Lance looked like when he first woke up in the morning.

He needed to know.

But if Lance woke up the instant he shifted his weight, then he would break the serenity of the moment – of just him awake and no one else, of freedom from any illusions he kept on lock in case he had to protect himself and others from caring too much.

Heaving a sigh, Keith closed his eyes. In the morning, with an aching, congested head and slight nausea twisting his stomach, everything he'd hoped to happen when he took Lance's offer to ride home with him, all seemed pretty foolish. Later, he tried to soothe himself, he would decide it was better he'd let Lance talk him out of sex that night. That he could face himself in the mirror again knowing he'd been enchanted by a pair of pretty eyes and a gorgeous facade, but not so much he gave away something he could easily regret losing.

Behind him, Lance hummed again, tone pitching upwards as he twisted more purposefully than simply turning over in sleep – but with Keith in the way he couldn't manage it, attempting once more before stilling, arm drawing away from over Keith's heart.

"G'mornin'," he said, voice husky from sleep. Keith craned up to see Lance watching him lazily through one eye as he rubbed the other, the side of his hair pressed the wrong direction and flattened against his head.

"Hey," Keith returned on almost a whisper, wiping the crust from his eyes at last. "Sorry if I snored."

Lance shrugged his free shoulder. "I can sleep through anything, man."

"Not me snoring," Keith insisted. He always snored when he'd been drinking, although this morning his throat didn't feel like he had.

Obviously not awake enough to argue over this, Lance shrugged again. "Sleep okay? I know I'm kind of a koala bear."

Now that he had some give, Keith rolled onto his back, his right side landing _just_ over the edge of the couch.

"Here," Lance flattened against the back of the couch, pulling Keith more solidly onto the cushions with a hand cupped around his shoulder. Keith took it a step further, turning his body so he could face Lance, his arms folded up between them for more warmth.

"Are your lashes naturally that thick?" Lance mused, scrutinizing Keith's eyes in unveiled admiration. "I thought for sure last night you must have been wearing eyeliner, maybe even falsies."

Keith blushed. "All natural," he quipped, strangely flattered. Usually people were too caught up in his "freaky," starkly violet eyes to notice anything else about his features.

"You're half, aren't you? Do you mind me asking?" When Keith stared blankly it became Lance's turn to flush, and beet red at that. "I'm sorry, I was stereotyping, wasn't I? I don't know many full Asians with such long lashes."

"Why are you obsessed with my eyelashes all of a sudden?" Keith interrupted, bemused. Lance colored deeper, unable to answer. Taking mercy on him, Keith shrugged his higher shoulder, a mirror of Lance's earlier gesture.

"I was put in foster care after my dad left me. I don't really remember him, and I never knew my mom. All I have about my dad is his name and that he was first-generation. No one I've talked to can tell me anything about my mom." He scoffed. "To be honest I'm not sure I even know my real birthday." At Lance's stricken look he quickly carried on, "My foster mother - the first one - told me as soon as I was old enough to ask where I came from. I would've figured it out when I got a little older, anyway. I look nothing like her, or her ex." When Lance still looked troubled a stab of genuine appreciation and affection tinctured Keith's heart. He allowed a tiny smile. "It's sweet of you to worry about that."

Choking, Lance struggled to recover himself. "Not… not _worry_ , just. It's gotta be rough no matter what, you know? I mean, I'm the youngest of four, plus my grandparents live with us, and I can't imagine what my life would be like without _any_ of them— Wait, you don't have a _birthday_?"

Keith laughed, quick to appease him. "I have one, obviously; it's just no one knows for sure when my _real_ one is. I guess, we celebrated the day they adopted me."

"And when was that?" Lance asked softly, moving a rogue strand of hair out of Keith's face.

He scoffed. "October the 23rd , if you'd like to know."

"Was… was that a 'Lord of the Rings' reference?"

"…What?" He cackled at Lance's baffled expression. "I'm kidding, I got it!"

"Would you— shit, that's next week, isn't it? Anything you wanna do? _Ack_ —!"

Impatient, Keith had flipped them both, Lance onto his back with Keith straddling his pelvis. "Aren't you forgetting something you already said we'd do?" And Lance looked so fucking beautiful from this angle, dazzlingly flustered and off-guard, ocean-colored eyes glittering up at him.

"Oh, right," Lance purred, wasting no time in reorienting himself and sliding his hands up Keith's bare arms, eliciting shivers and goosebumps in tandem. "You still sure you wanna do this? You feel okay?" he checked, making sure he had Keith's full attention as he asked. In a first answer, Keith ground his hips in a wavering circle atop Lance's groin, smirking at the first interested twitch he felt beneath him.

"Do I even need to say it?"

Lance stared earnestly up at him. "Yes. Please."

Keith stopped dead still, gaping at Lance. Rather than douse the flame, the bald concern permeating the air between them spiked it higher, Keith's heart hammering faster. Lance really cared, didn't he? This wasn't just about consent – well, it was, but not in the sole interest of covering his ass. Lance really needed to know that _Keith_ wanted this, and out of his _own_ desire; not to fulfill some obligation he felt or because he was trying to satisfy someone else's needs.

Keith even in those few split seconds envisioned Lance's lean frame above, over, around him; teased himself with how Lance's fingers, tongue, and finally his cock would feel inside him. He wanted to taste every inch of Lance that he could, wanted to be surrounded by his heat and scent, wanted to fall asleep next to him and then wake up by his side forever if he could. Slowly, eyes locked, he rested their foreheads together. His eyes burning with desire through his lashes, Keith growled, "I want this. I want _you_."

The change was instant. Lance's fingers gripped the back of his head and pulled him down, connecting their mouths in a rush of hot, moist air. His other hand roved down Keith's back, fingernails grazing the skin over his hipbone as they curled under his shirt. Smirking into the kiss, Keith arched forward into Lance's chest, rolling his hips again to the satisfaction of hearing those cut-off little gasps beneath him. Lance's fingers felt pleasant on his back, sliding up his spine tantalizingly slow, exploring every ridge of vertebrae where skin and muscle laid thinnest.

"Hmm…" Keith purred, letting Lance kiss along his jaw, his neck, lingering on the vulnerable pulse point just long enough to make Keith squirm and whine needily.

"Bedroom?" Lance suggested, teeth scraping Keith's Adam's apple. Breathless with want, Keith nodded.

"Yeah," he gasped at Lance's arousal growing under him. "Need you."

"Yeah," Lance echoed, pressing up against him to ease him off. "This way," he said hurriedly, taking both of Keith's hands and tugging him off the couch to follow him. Blissfully lightheaded now, Keith stumbled after him, unable to suppress an eager grin. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to do everything, and he could tell already Lance was more than willing to take charge of the situation; he carried himself with an ease which could only come from experience.

Lance's bed was unmade, which Keith took as a plus when they were here about to massacre the sheets anyway, if this played out the way he wanted. Without prompting he stepped ahead and flung the disheveled covers the rest of the way off the mattress, flopping down in a sprawled position to watch Lance with heavy-lidded eyes. Blushing under the focused attention, Lance's fingers fumbled at the knob on his nightstand, reaching into the drawer to pull out a box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

"I don't have anything," Keith scowled, looking distastefully at the condoms.

Neck and ears red, Lance dug his fingers into the back of his neck, he was so mortified. "Well but also, it's morning. And you haven't…um." After a few slow blinks Keith caught up.

"Oh." He shifted and turned his cheek. "I don't need to—"

"Okay, then," Lance said, clearing his throat. _Don't kill the mood, don't kill the mood_. He stood stock still, unsure how to proceed from there.

Okay; so Keith would have to do _one_ thing himself. He slid down on the mattress, one knee hiked up and arms above his head, and he jutted his chin at his body. "C'mere." He smiled and narrowed his eyes seductively, drawing Lance in with his most sultry gaze.

It worked. As a man compelled Lance knelt onto the bed, crawling over Keith's form and settling down on the mattress along his body. "You look nervous all of a sudden," Keith murmured, no hint of teasing in his voice. Lance swallowed and said nothing.

"I've never topped another dude. Only bottomed," he admitted, with more frankness than Keith would ever have expected. Heart panging, Keith forced his own nerves down and cupped Lance's chin, making him look him in the eyes. He kissed him.

"I've got time," he soothed, kissing his lips again, deeper and bringing him closer, higher up his body, arching up into his heat. Lance gave in, taking over the kiss and licking into Keith's mouth with a newly insatiable hunger. One arm wriggled between the mattress and Keith's upper back, holding him tight against him and locking him in place to further the kiss. His arousal grew harder against the other's pelvis and Keith moaned, writhing and bucking his hips up. " _Need you_ ," he insisted and Lance sucked at the corner of his mouth.

"Let me hear you," Lance whispered, voice still shaky. His teeth caught the point of Keith's jaw and he let out a tiny yelp of surprise. To his credit, Lance halted; but then he resumed, flicking his tongue under Keith's chin, behind his earlobe, lips pressing down his neck, under the collar of his shirt. "Tell me what you like, Keith," he breathed, hand sliding under his shirt up his ribs, thumb stroking over his nipple.

"Hey!" Keith's breath caught, chest rising off the bed as sensation jolted from Lance's hand to the base of his spine, fists clenching in Lance's shirt. Curious, Lance caressed the nub of flesh again and he keened, head digging behind into the pillow. A wicked idea flickered across Lance's eyes and he felt his way down Keith's clothed chest with his lips, finally closing his mouth on the other nipple through Keith's black shirt and suckling gently.

" _Ohhhh_ …"

"Do you like that?"

"Eeey _esss_ ," Keith hissed, arching and throwing his head back again.

This part, Lance could clearly handle. He moved his thumb and forefinger expertly over Keith's chest, knowing somehow just the right amount to pinch, when to roll, when to smooth the puckered flesh back down. With his mouth he teased with his tongue, he nipped, he brushed the tip of his nose over it. When Keith thought he would cum from that stimulation alone Lance backed off, ghosting both palms under Keith's shirt now, the fabric catching on his wrists and dragging higher up Keith's torso. Abruptly Keith lifted his chest and shoulders, surprising him, and he yanked off his shirt over his head. The planes of lean muscle on his chest and stomach stood in full relief in the morning light, and Keith felt certain he saw Lance's heart stop. He smirked in self-satisfaction, letting a hand trace the line down the center of his pectorals and abs and lower. Lance swallowed, eyes widening as he followed it down.

"Come on, then," Keith purred, "Your turn." His fingers already gripped the hem of Lance's shirt, easing it up his back. Coming to his senses Lance reared up on his knees and pulled it off himself, revealing his broad freckled shoulders and a streamlined waist leading into narrow hips. He was already leaning back down when Keith beckoned him, burying his self-consciousness in the blistering desire to lay his hands and his mouth on every inch of Keith's wiry frame, to taste and feel every muscle flex under his touch.

"You're beautiful," Lance said on a breath, so quiet Keith thought he'd imagined it. He stared wide-eyed at the ceiling while Lance sucked on his collarbone, then the boy said it again; "So beautiful."

"I need you _now_ ," Keith blurted in a hushed voice, unable to wait any longer, to risk taking any more time. Indeed his own arousal, building steadily since Lance first laid lips on him that morning, now seemed to strain against the binding fabric of his jeans, aching for relief from the distressing emptiness inside of him.

"You sure?" Lance said into his overheated skin. Keith's fingers dug into Lance's shoulders.

"Don't make me ask again," Keith nearly snapped, wishing he could just take himself in hand now, but too many things were in the way. In apology Lance pecked his lips, lifting up and settling back on his heels. Impatient, Keith undid his jeans himself, Lance falling back out of the way as he shucked them down and off his legs, short boxer-briefs dragged with them.

"Definitely only half-Asian," Lance quipped, eyeing Keith with piqued interest.

"You stop that," Keith huffed, sitting up to direct his attention on Lance's belt, "you'll get your turn later," he growled as his fingers fumbled with the button. Lance pressed his face into the crown of Keith's head while he was hunched forward, pressing a longing kiss to the hair whorl on his scalp. The intimate touch on such a little-acknowledged patch of skin made Keith desperately aware of his body, his actions, and how close he was to bursting into tears right there if Lance didn't hurry up and fuck the tension out of him already.

"Let me," Lance whispered when Keith's fingers slipped again, clasping his shaking hands and guiding them out of the way. Quelled, Keith rocked back onto his elbows while Lance clambered off the bed, drinking in the sight of Lance's sinewy body slipping out of his jeans as if it were a dance, every movement of his long limbs tirelessly graceful and refined. Once bare, he reached past Keith's head for the bottle of lubricant and a condom, setting the foil packet aside for the time being.

"You know how it's done?" Keith rasped, watching deft fingers pop open the cap and slick themselves with viscous clear liquid.

"Mmhmm," Lance affirmed, coating his digits with a liberal amount of fluid. Keith resisted telling him he didn't need to use _that_ much – maybe Bryce hadn't, but Bryce also knew what he was doing. If this was Lance's first time giving rather than receiving, then the more lube, the better.

"Can you face me?" he squeaked once his hands were glistening, the first real twinge of fear present in his expression now. Halfway through rotating onto all fours, Keith froze. Surprise read in every one of Keith's features, but he closed his mouth and cautiously returned to his back.

"Is it okay if I watch you? I want to know if you're hurting, is all, and I get the feeling you might not tell me if I can't see your face," Lance babbled a little, rubbing his neck.

"I can take it. Don't be nervous," Keith assured him, though the tremor in his voice gave away his anxiety. Flushing down to his shoulders now, Lance shied his gaze away, focusing not _exactly_ on Keith's groin, but certainly in the vicinity of his pelvis. "It's okay."

Lance still couldn't look him in the eye but he nodded and shifted forward between Keith's parted legs. Keith let his thighs sprawl further apart as he flattened himself, allowing Lance better access. Despite the confidence he exuded for Lance's sake, he felt his heart stutter at the real possibility this might actually _hurt_ due to Lance's inexperience – but he breathed against it, willing himself to relax; it would help both of them.

A tepid finger prodded experimentally at his entrance. Keith lifted his head, took in Lance's paralyzed expression, and rolled his hip around the point. Lance squeaked again, but he took the encouragement for everything it was worth and pressed boldly through the ring of muscle. Keith shuddered at the feeling of the first breach and let his head fall back, eyes on the ceiling. Lance's finger had curled on the way in, and it was at not _quite_ the right angle, but it felt… it felt. He didn't hate it.

"Sorry," Lance whispered at Keith's small involuntary whine.

"It's fine, don't worry," he said just as quietly, flexing his spine to find a more comfortable position. Lance's slim fingers felt as much an intrusion as anything else Keith had ever taken inside of him; the surprise didn't disappoint him. But Lance reached forward and kissed him in a silent apology, distracting with his tongue while he worked a second finger inside.

" _Hmmff_ … Wait a second," Keith yelped when Lance tried to scissor too early, the stretch falling too hard on the side of pain rather than pleasure for his tastes. He swept a forearm over his eyes, the blackness helping him recenter. After a tense silence he nodded for Lance to continue, still covering his face. Lance stretched him out gradually, working from the outside in until his fingers ran parallel inside him.

"Ready for another, yet?" Lance asked gently, beginning to withdraw.

"Hmm," Keith assented, moving his arm down in front of his mouth. Lance could make eye contact with him now, his blue eyes never wavering as he lined up a third finger.

He didn't have the positioning quite right and Keith muffled a yell in his forearm, biting hard enough to leave a mark when Lance scraped him on the way out.

"Oh, Jesus, I'm so sorry!" he stammered, grasping Keith's shoulder, panicked eyes roving his face.

"Shoulda added some more lube," Keith coughed when he recovered, satisfied that he wasn't actually hurt, just literally rubbed the wrong way. He held up his hand, configuring his fingers for Lance to see. "Like _that_ ," he said as blandly as if demonstrating anything _other_ than how to prepare someone for anal sex, and Lance nearly collapsed at the absurdity of it.

"How are you real?" he gasped hysterically, covering his face with his clean hand.

"Not sure." He crossed his arms above his head on the mattress, stretching his body partly as display, mostly to force himself to relax. "Well?"

Lance managed to straighten his features at least, bowing forward over Keith again. "Okay," he murmured, lining up his gathered fingertips against the twitching muscle, pushing past the sphincter inside. "Okay?"

"Mmmmmm…" was all Keith could manage, arching off the mattress and tipping his head back, fingers clutching at thin air but his arms drifted forward as if preparing to clutch the sheets instead. With renewed confidence Lance thrust his fingers deeper, spreading them out gradually in time to Keith's shuddering breaths. Then Lance crooked his fingers just so and stars burst in front of his closed eyes, pleasure spiking in his belly and he nearly bucked off the bed.

"You _really_ liked that one, huh?" Lance teased, somehow managing to rub around that spot but not actually touch it again, driving Keith to distraction and near incoherence.

"Stop fucking around and— _hnnnnnngh…_ actually, fuck _me_ already!" Keith grated out, hips and legs already flexing as if to meet Lance's thrusts. He really couldn't wait any longer, and he saw that same impatient fire in the vivid blue eyes above him. Not wasting a second, Lance slipped his fingers out and squeezed a generous handful of lube into his palm, slicking his half-staff arousal to full hardness. Hiking one of Keith's legs over his shoulder ("Geez, you're so narrow—" "So are you, asshat."), Lance edged closer than ever, positioning himself. Wordless, he made sure he had immovable eye contact before he went any further.

This was it. They'd both dreamed of this, wished for it, and now here it was. No sound shared but their anticipatory breathing, thundering hearts in their chests.

The spell broke and Lance pushed forward.

He felt bigger than he'd looked. Keith gasped over the first inches, reaching blindly for something to grab onto – Lance's hand found his, linking their fingers, palms skin to leather when Keith whimpered on the next grind, his thighs shaking.

"Shh…" Lance crooned, leaning down to kiss his fallen-open mouth, crowding out the tingling burn with a hunger for re-connection, that deeper connection. After another moment he edged inside further still, managing to seat himself fully right when Keith might have admitted it was too much. They lay chest to chest, Keith's leg sliding back to the mattress aside Lance's hip, their breaths mingling, eyes bright and impatient. "Tell me when," Lance whispered against his lips, mouthing him languidly while Keith adjusted to the fullness, tried to get himself to relax around it. As an experiment he flexed his legs up, clasping Lance's narrow waist between his thighs and hooking his ankles behind his tailbone. "Better?"

"Hm," Keith nodded, "Yeah. Wait a bit, though," he said, the peak of sensation hitting as Lance settled more heavily inside him with this adjusted position. He keened and arched his neck, clenching his fists and Lance squeezed his fingers back reassuringly. He'd been here too, Keith reminded himself, grateful for the careful attention. Bryce had always just gone for it, had never received and so couldn't understand why Keith needed help keeping himself grounded during their nights together. He dipped his chin back toward his chest, pupils blown with renewed surging desire. As if he could read his mind, Lance kissed him ravenously, encouraging him to time his breathing to the flow of his lips over his. Keith relaxed; no burn or sting, just a comfortable, solid heat anchoring him in place, pulsing like a heartbeat, holding him steady. "Okay," he sighed, smiling into Lance's continued kisses. Lance grinned back, wrapping his arm under Keith's shoulders to stabilize him more.

"Okay," he agreed, his hips shifting back on a patient drag.

" _Hmmmmmmm_ …" escaped Keith's throat as only the head remained inside. He recrossed his ankles, free hand settling on Lance's bicep, the other still twined with Lance's own. And then Lance slid forward, brushing past that magical spot and Keith practically purred as he landed, alternating with pleasured gasping as Lance built their rhythm slowly, always watching the responses of the boy underneath him.

"You're so gorgeous like this," Lance started mumbling, kissing around Keith's collarbone and in the crook of his neck.

" _You_ are," Keith protested breathlessly, hands roving over the muscles of Lance's back, sinew rippling under his palms as he pulled out and thrust back in. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

"You ever looked in a mirror?" Lance said smoothly, working his lips under his jaw toward the nape of his neck.

"Could ask the same," Keith countered, voice pitching on a solid hit to his prostate. "Shiiiii _iiit,_ right therrRE!" he groaned, biting his wrist as Lance struck again and his ecstasy spiked.

Lance brushed his nose along the side of Keith's forearm. "Don't be shy," he placated, "I wanna hear you." He kissed the bony part of Keith's exposed wrist, loosely taking the hand in his when Keith looked beseechingly up at him with wide violet eyes. "It's just us two here. Just you and me." Keith still looked uncertain; Lance slowed and stopped completely, settling his hips against Keith's and cupping his face. "What's up?" He blinked, looking distraught at the sudden tears spilling from Keith's eyes. "Did I hurt you?! Keith—!"

"I'm fine," he insisted in spite of his voice catching, turning his face away in humiliation. "I just… Sorry, I'm just being stupid right now."

"Crying isn't stupid. What's going on?" But Keith just sniffled, quivering legs drifting down to the mattress. Lance squeezed his hands reassuringly. "Do you want me to stop?" Keith shook his head again.

"I'm just not… I'm not used to this."

Lance stayed silent, hoping Keith would explain. He didn't know how many partners Keith'd had before him, and it was none of his business to know anyway; but he'd had enough himself to recognize emotional scarring when he saw it.

"It's okay," he whispered at last, resting their foreheads together, the most gentle smile on his face. "We don't need to get into it. But I'm serious, if you want me to pull out—"

Keith shook his head the hardest yet, wrapping his legs around the back of Lance's thighs again. "No," he asserted stubbornly, throwing his arms around him too. "Just let— Gimme… Stay here?" he finished meekly, in a voice so small and unlike him it very nearly broke Lance's heart. At a loss for anything so eloquent to say, he lifted slightly and pressed a firm, warm kiss to Keith's sweat-damp forehead, lingering longer than most would say he needed to, but long enough for Keith to fall limp under him, relax around him, and surrender to this reality: Lance was right here with him, because he _wanted_ to be here with him. And he had absolutely zero intention to leave. He kissed his tears away as they fell, his hand idly tracing along his ribs and side and hip, massaging his thigh when it trembled from exertion.

This was… it felt nice. Stilling here, midway, Lance pulsing thickly inside of him but not coercing Keith any further as long as his head was trapped elsewhere.

"Anything I can do?" Lance offered when Keith didn't say anything more for a long minute. The boy gave a final sniffle and rubbed the tear tracks off his cheeks.

"I'm okay. I'm fine," he insisted, voice raspy but more stable. Taking a deep breath, he shifted his position, brow pinching at the resistance from having Lance's cock in him. He couldn't meet Lance's watchful eyes, his gaze pinned down between them. He had softened during his emotional outburst and his already blotchy face filled in some blank spots. "I'm sorry, this isn't want you wanted."

"Hey," Lance gently cut him off, stroking his hair, "Don't worry about it. Everything about this is fine. Okay?" Keith's dark eyes flicked up to him, but looked away again quickly as he blinked. Kissing his forehead again, Lance threaded a hand down between their stomachs.

"Can I touch you?" he asked softly, reaching fingers stopping well short of the head. Mute, Keith nodded shallowly, eyes focused on the long dark hand, already imagining the deft strokes of baby-smooth skin— the real thing felt ten times better. He came back to a respectable hardness in a few strokes, and then he felt Lance swell back up inside him as Keith's resurging arousal piqued his interest higher. The expanse of Lance's pupils was easier to see in his brightly-colored eyes, and the sight alone would have made Keith arch against him greedily; in tandem with Lance's grasp around him, it made him moan low in his throat at the same time. "Is this okay?" Lance's words drifted to him, and he could only mewl in response, pleasure tingling up his spine and firing through his hips and stomach.

Hands on either side of Lance's face, he pulled him in for an open-mouthed kiss, their panting breaths mingling as their bodies coursed together, Lance finally resuming the rhythm with his hips and brushing that sweet spot that whited out Keith's vision the more consistently he struck home. Heat coiled more and more tightly in the pit of his belly, it was harder to keep hold of Lance, his fingernails bit into the tanned muscled shoulders.

"Lance, I'm—" he gasped, his own cries of burgeoning ecstasy cutting him short. He couldn't— He had to—

Lance's hand found his again, fingers locking in desperation. He came with a deep feral growl, squeezing Lance between his thighs as he clenched around the cock still pistoning within him. Only seconds went by before Lance's breath caught above him, and warmth flooded inside his core. Lance's thrusts stuttered gradually to a stop, but he remained inside for now as Keith still twitched from his orgasm, carefully resting his body on top of Keith's, kissing his face, neck, anything he could reach. Keith's free hand traced the contours of his back and waist, eventually resting over his nape. Sweat glistened on both of them, air hot between them, Keith's legs falling to either side, splaying rather ungracefully on the mattress behind Lance, but whatever; he had to catch his breath first.

His fingers wandered listlessly through the shorter hairs on the back of Lance's head, lingering on the little bumps of tissue or a raised mole. He counted the barely-there freckles on Lance's cheekbones, the random ones splashed on his ear. And he realized Lance watched him the entire time with bated breath.

"You okay? You're still really tense." Whether conscious or no, the resistance and pull when Lance shifted his hips proved his point. Meeting his gaze mutely, Keith willed himself to relax, to come down fully from the high of sex and bask in the afterglow for a change. Nerves gripped him tightly instead, though he couldn't fathom why – this had been tamer than anything he'd participated in for a long time, and yet something had rattled him so much he couldn't act either to run and hide or to stay put.

Something of this must have shown on his face because Lance's worried expression softened to something fonder, and he tentatively brushed Keith's sweat-drenched bangs away from his forehead. "I'm gonna try to pull out now; and then, if it's okay, I'm going to get a towel so I can clean you up. Is there anything else you need?"

Shaken by the unabashed kindness, Keith sniffled and blinked at the abrupt tears in his eyes, and swiftly covered them with his hands. His words caught in his throat, every thought he wanted to say bottlenecking to nothing but silence. He grunted when Lance eased out, catching at the end as Keith spasmed around the new emptiness. "Are you hurt?" Lance whispered, checking himself for any signs of Keith bleeding.

Keith shook his head. "Just a little sore," he managed, grimacing as he drew his knees up to a more comfortable angle for his strained hips. Lance settled a warm hand on his leg, thumb stroking the crest of the kneecap. Keith peeked through his fingers when curiosity got the better of him.

"You hungry?"

He shrugged and dropped his hands, frowning at the thought of food. Lance squeezed his knee briefly, then sat back on his rump, rolling off the bed with spectacular grace. "I'll be back in a few minutes." As an afterthought he bent down to give Keith's forehead a quick peck, then he closed the door behind him.

Shivering in the absence of Lance's body heat, Keith flopped to his side, dragging a corner of the blanket over his shoulder and chest. The fluids smeared over his belly had mostly dried, and in combination with lingering sweat he felt sticky and gross. He reflected that Lance hadn't cleaned himself either, at least not there in the room. He could just hear the sounds of Lance rummaging in the kitchen, cupboard doors opening and closing as he looked for… whatever.

Heaving a last trembling breath, Keith ducked his face under the corner of the blanket, shutting his eyes. He didn't recognize how he was feeling. He didn't know what to think.

He must have dozed; suddenly Lance's calm face was in front of his, the boy squatting on the floor by the bed and offering him a red straw. "It'll help," he said simply. It was water with lemon juice. Pushing to his elbow, Keith took the glass for himself, sipping as he finished waking up. Somewhere in the interlude Lance had pulled on collegiate sweatpants, and his bare belly looked slightly red from scrubbing himself clean. Embarrassed at his disheveled state by comparison, Keith attempted to curl up – but pain bolted through his hips and he gasped, giving himself away.

"Let me?" Lance asked, drawing the bedclothes away with a damp washcloth in hand. Tracking his every ministration, Keith let him wipe away the dried cum on his stomach until the skin was pink, then out of nowhere he produced cleansing towelettes to rub him down, refreshing his sweat-stained skin. "I, uh… I brought you an ice pack, too. Do you—"

"Yes." He kept the towel-wrapped ice in place with his heels, the relief instantaneous and almost as pleasurable as the sex that had made him require it in the first place. Lance dropped the blanket over him again to cover his nakedness, return some balance between them.

"I can leave if you want to get dressed."

In response Keith flung an arm out and slapped the mattress next to him.

"Stay?" he asked meekly when Lance started and didn't move further. Eyes brightening, Lance smiled and scooted up the bed, laying on his side on top of the blanket next to Keith. Keith still lay on his back, knees drawn up, arms crossed over his chest and the blanket, watching him with a measure of uncertainty. He didn't know what he should ask for – what was _allowed_ here. Here he had known Lance less than twenty-four hours and he'd shown this boy more of him than any previous long-term lover ever saw. And "lover" was by a very slack definition; Bryce had been the longest, but their coupling had always been preoccupied, frenzied, aching to void something out of their psyches more than their bodies. While always fiery and spectacular, there had never quite been this surreal calm afterward, where time seemed to fall still and they could stay together with each other and just recenter, bond in that elusive afterglow.

Anyone who knew Keith's history could see this had been different. An instant connection and pull, mutual desire and need, and something so tender and delicate that needed both of them to nurture it and help it grow. Emotion blossomed in Keith's chest and he wrenched his gaze away before he started crying again, heaving onto his side with his back to Lance, curling even smaller if possible.

"Hey, now, what's this?" Lance tutted, edging closer so he could still see Keith's face; the dark eyes were half-lidded, unfocused on anything outward. "Talk to me, Keith. What's on your mind?" Still he said nothing, though his jaw worked as if he was trying to find the words. Lance let his fingertips play with the longer strands of Keith's hair fanned out on the pillow. "Is it okay if I hold you?" He waited until he saw the barely-there nod, then eased his whole body forward, spooning up against Keith's back and wrapping an arm around his waist, threading the other under Keith's neck. He buried his face in Keith's nape, the rugged smell of sweat still clinging there, the skin salty-tasting when he kissed a nub of vertebrae. "What's up?" he prompted again, voice sleepy-sounding, taking the edge off. Keith settled against his chest, still mute. But he breathed slowly, evenly, so Lance didn't press any further. He had an idea why Keith was so lost for words right now, had felt it in his feathery touches and seen it in distracted eyes. "I'm not leaving until you ask me to," he breathed, his lips pressing to warm skin again. The shudder that rolled through Keith's body told him everything he needed to know. "I mean it. I promise," he said, pressing his face into Keith's hair.

"Don't promise," Keith rasped in a strangled voice. He let out a shaky exhale and it must have sounded more sad than defiant because Lance's arms wrapped around him tighter, hands clasping in front of his heart like some crude joke. Part of him wanted to fight this, throw Lance off of him; but the remaining, louder, lonelier part of him insisted he stay, that he would regret wasting this chance to feel like he'd found somewhere he could feel he belonged. Even if it was just for a moment, he needed this. He needed firm, secure arms around him, grounding him, a safe body to help keep him warm. It was okay. It would be okay. He would be okay.

He closed his eyes as he surrendered his body and mind to fate's plans, tension washing out of him, and finally exhausted slumber claimed him.

Lance stayed awake a moment longer, watching the stress release Keith's body as he fell deeper into sleep, the lines and planes of his muscles smoothing out and softening. He pulled the boy closer when he emitted small whimpers in his sleep, brushing his lips over his bare shoulders as he shushed him on a whisper. Lance hadn't known any lover like this; he'd never quite had someone trust him enough to be vulnerable to his face, and he thought about last night when they'd bonded over a spilled drink and a silly word, and, well – wasn't that how so many movie meet-cutes led to the most sickeningly charming romances?

Shit, he had it bad for this boy; he couldn't help thinking that his instincts with Keith had been right on the money, and he thought he might burst with the self-satisfaction that at least he did one thing right.

He nuzzled closer to Keith's neck, forehead resting against his hair. That stupid quasi-80s mullet hair that he'd probably cut himself, if the absolute mess of his ends meant anything. No car, no phone, naive as hell and not caring one bit about amending that. Lance's shoulder jumped with his scoff of laughter – literally, where had Keith been living, and how could he even get by as he was?

He frowned as his thoughts jumped to a completely different track – did Keith have any choice? There was a vaguely roguish air about him that transcended "bad boy" into straight-up "lost," but Keith reined himself in so tightly that Lance had only seen the loner, not the lonely. But then, he'd broken down, fallen apart at Lance's unearned attention and care when he was already made vulnerable; and… well, it made his heart break, to be honest. Keith didn't have anyone. Not before they'd met, anyway. Even the boyfriend he'd just split from, they'd never really been a unit.

Lance had been there, too – that person who's convenient and can take the edge off the hunger to connect with another human, but who doesn't want to share themselves fully at the risk of hurting for it later. And if Keith's uncertainty had been any indication, he'd trained himself to not care, either.

If Lance had anything to say about it, he decided, then he would never allow this boy to feel unwanted again. He sealed his dedication with a long kiss under Keith's nape, like he could conduct the beats of his vow into Keith's dreams through the touch of his lips – a silly idea, but he thought it as loudly as possible anyway. Perhaps the contented-sounding sigh Keith let out in his sleep was a mere coincidence, but Lance could also indulge in fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhhh, you're not here for stuff that's factually accurate, you're here for soft bois having gentle sex (and completely forgetting about the condom but this is fiction; don't do what these knuckleheads did, and use protection, fam).


	3. I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cos we break down a little / But when you get me alone, it's so simple._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 6 destroyed me.
> 
> I'm posting this earlier than I planned so we can all have something to scream about.

_Was this love?_

Lance asked himself that not for the first time when he roused again into consciousness. Keith was still dead asleep in front of him, although he had turned in the interim to face him. His smaller hands were curled up paw-like between their chests, eyelids fluttering as he dreamed. Lance stroked the hair at his crown, tidying the messy part it had slipped into. The hairs were unexpectedly soft and fine, not the thick, coarse strands he would have thought suited Keith's demeanor. They flowed between his knuckles like silken water, the slight curl equal parts natural and neglect, if Lance was any expert.

When Lance's finger pads met the nape of Keith's neck he sighed in his sleep and edged closer, head practically tucked under Lance's chin. His hair smelled sharp, like citrus or maybe a remnant of green apple; he couldn't tell under the clinging scents of bar smoke, whiskey, and post-coital musk. Keith's hands flexed and the fingertips of one brushed the hollow at the base of Lance's neck, catching on the bone. Lance readjusted his arms around Keith's shoulders, holding him closer in a secure embrace when the boy grimaced in his sleep and tried to wrench away. He resisted and fought for a second, one arm scrabbling behind his back, whines edging into vocal protest.

"Shhhhh, shh, it's okay. You're okay," Lance said under his breath, wrapping a leg over him too so he wouldn't hurt himself struggling.

"Lance?" Keith said in a small, uncertain voice, his hand now wandering over Lance's bare waist.

Lance kissed his hair tenderly, forcing a cheerful smile. "Yeah. G'morning, sleepyhead."

Keith groaned, pressing his forehead into Lance's neck. "You're a fucking _furnace_."

"Sorry, I—"

"No, in a good way."

"...Are you cold?" Lance asked almost without needing to, as Keith was already wrenching at the blanket under him.

"Get in here," he grumbled, still half-asleep by all appearances. Chuckling, Lance rolled off the edge of the quilt to make things a little easier, then slid underneath next to Keith's downy skin. Keith cuddled right up to him, arms looping around his waist and linking in the back, nose pressed between his pecs.

"Comfortable?" Lance asked, suddenly all too aware again of Keith's nakedness.

" _Mmh_ ," was Keith's articulate response, as he nuzzled into Lance's warmth.

"I can turn the heat on. Or get you something to wear."

" _Stay_ ," Keith demanded, squeezing his elbows emphatically into Lance's ribs.

"Alright, no objections here," Lance complied, secretly endeared by this possessive aspect of Keith he honestly hadn't predicted, but definitely enjoyed as long as the target of possession was him. He settled an arm over Keith's shoulders, and closed his eyes.

"Lance," Keith said abruptly after the other thought he'd fallen asleep again.

"Hmm?" Lance didn't bother opening his eyes as long as Keith hadn't moved.

"…"

"What's up?"

"I… Thank you," he finally mumbled, burrowing his face under Lance's draping arm like a shy kitten. "For putting up with me. I didn't mean for it to go like this."

Something unpleasant tugged at Lance's heart. He stroked his hand down Keith's upper arm and back, walked his fingers back up the crest of his shoulder. "I wish I knew what to say…" he admitted half to himself. Dark eyes flickered up to him, cautious. _...that would convince you._

He'd only say the words wrong. So he circled his light touch over Keith's back, neck, shoulder, melting him down into the embrace again with each soothing caress of tensed muscle.

"I'm not used to this," Keith repeated himself, sounding a little dejected. Lance didn't pause his ministrations, encouraging the thought without putting him on the spot. "One-nights don't usually care this much."

"Who said I only wanted one night? Maybe you picked up I'm bi, but I'm not promiscuous."

Blessedly, Keith snorted. "I just left my boyfriend of almost a year for you, you think I'd be one to talk?" He scratched the back of his ear. "I didn't mean you do a lot of one-nights…"

"...Have you?" Lance probed in a careful voice, still lightly massaging Keith's back. He just shrugged a shoulder.

"It was a long time ago. Before Bryce."

Lance idly pondered what made Bryce so special then, but quickly decided it was irrelevant. Keith woke up in _his_ bed this morning, after all.

"I was just trying to feel like I wasn't some freak," Keith continued unprompted. Lance moved away just enough to kiss and bump their foreheads together.

"You don't need to explain anything, Keith."

"No, I… You need to understand—" he didn't move away, though, "—I've never felt like I belonged anywhere, and I kept hooking up with people because I thought maybe I could convince someone to care."

Lance started to see it even before Keith reached it; Keith made his mistakes, got burned too often. By the time he met Bryce he'd stopped even trying for a connection. Their relationship was two lonely people who just wanted to feel something again, if only for one night at a time.

And Lance realized he'd had the wrong question all along. "So, what makes _me_ so special?" he dared to ask. The heat of Keith's blush reached him and he brushed their noses teasingly. "Come on, _baaaabe_ , you can tell _meeeee_."

"Fuck off," Keith whined, squirming as Lance resorted to tickling his bare belly lightly. "Stop!" he squeaked, laughter bursting out of his mouth when Lance tickled his side mercilessly. Lance continued until Keith had giggled himself breathless, eyes glittering with mirthful tears. They glowed up at him, Keith's cheeks bright red and hair perfectly tousled. _So, **so** beautiful._

"This," Keith confessed, watching him with tempered affection. Lance gave him a puzzled look. Keith's pale hand reached up to cup his jaw, his fingertips lightly calloused and dry and warm. Would he ever know what this boy's hands truly felt like, Lance wondered, but when Keith beamed up at him like that nothing else really mattered much. His fingers pressed lightly and Lance met his lips, this kiss chaste and sweet, not the hungry open-mouthed contact sought earlier. When he broke away Keith followed him, planting kisses on his chin and jaw, finally burrowing his face in Lance's neck again, arms tightening around him with a contented little sigh, legs tangling, Keith soaking in Lance's warmth.

Something prickled in the back of Lance's mind. "Hey, I'm sorry about calling you 'babe' earlier. It just came out. I don't want us to be awkward or anything."

Keith huffed against his shoulder. "You had your fingers and your _dick_ inside my _ass_ a few hours ago. I don't think we _can_ be awkward." Lance blanched at Keith's bluntness, but the guy did have a really valid point. "It's fine, I don't mind it." If he was backed against a wall Keith _might_ admit he wanted Lance to call him only that from now on, but he had a little more dignity than that right now. The silly word just sounded _nice_ coming off Lance's tongue. "…I've been thinking about what you said last night. About how you just kinda know when you've found someone special."

Lance's breath caught. He stroked his thumb over Keith's shoulder, silently encouraging him to continue.

"I thought I couldn't care that much about people anymore. That something in me was… was _broken_." Lance turned his head but didn't stop stroking. "When I couldn't get you out of my head last night, I thought it was just how much I drank." He gave a pleasured shudder when Lance ghosted a hand down his back and returned it up along his waist. "I was scared I wouldn't feel the same in the morning. That's why I wanted you right then."

A thread of guilt for denying him cut at Lance's thoughts.

"But… I still wanted you when I woke up. And… that's so weird for me. But, I'm glad. Because…" He shifted, craning up at Lance. "It means you were right. And it means… maybe I'm actually okay."

" _Keith_ ," Lance gushed, preening. Keith grinned, fully aware of how ridiculous he must sound but damn it, he felt safe enough in Lance's arms to share how he really felt, for once.

"I don't know why you're so special. You just are," Keith admitted, burying his scarlet face again.

After a moment of embarrassed quiet, Lance chuckled to himself. "Well, I'm happy to know I didn't misfire, either," he said, curling around Keith and settling once again into sleep.

–

Keith still slept like the dead when Lance next stirred. Itching for wakefulness, Lance rolled off the other side of the mattress and pulled on the raglan shirt he'd cast away earlier. There was no smell of coffee or pancakes – Hunk still wasn't back – so it was on him to get a pot started, and maybe whisk something together for breakfast.

He tried to keep the noise down, but Keith wandered in as the coffee was nearly finished brewing, hair still a disaster and wearing only his thin charcoal tank top and short black boxer-briefs below. He rubbed his eyes, staring blearily at the steaming carafe. "Smells good," he commented, bare feet cemented in place.

"Do you take cream?"

"Lactose," Keith said flatly.

"I have almond milk."

"Any sugar?" A flashback of the honey whiskey the bartender used to top off Keith's glass last night popped into Lance's mind. He smiled to himself while Keith seemed not fully present in the real world.

"White, brown, or coconut?" Keith shrugged, taking the knowledge of two kinds of milk and three kinds of sugar in one kitchen into stride. "Hunk does a lot of baking when he's stressed, and pasteurized dairy makes me break out," Lance felt compelled to explain anyway.

"Hm." Keith peered listlessly through the cabinets, standing up on his toes to squint at whatever was on the higher shelves. Lance tried not to watch the flexing muscles in his legs and ass _too_ closely—

"Mugs are here," he blurted, fumbling for the cupboard in question. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Keith duck his head into the fridge, messy hair flopping to the side as he craned around the door for what he was looking for. With a little "ah" he retracted with the carton of vanilla almond milk in hand, shaking it out of habit as he strode to the mug waiting for him on the counter. He was close enough Lance could see the goosebumps studding his pale legs.

"Aren't you cold?" he checked, tilting his head to watch Keith's face. "I've got some sweats you can wear if you don't wanna deal with skinnies right now." More to the point, Lance felt a little ill-content being significantly more dressed than Keith.

The other boy said nothing, just brought his steaming-hot mug to his lips for a tentative first sip. "My legs don't really get cold," he explained.

Frustration pulling behind his eyes, Lance grasped at a straw. "Can I at least get you a sweater?" The apartment was drafty and he'd just noticed Keith's chest could probably poke someone's eye out.

"Fine," he admitted, blushing. Daringly, Lance pressed a quick peck to his temple before scampering off to find exactly the sweater he had in mind.

It was silly to think of one and only one sweater for a first-time house guest, but everything Keith wore seemed skin-tight and/or meant to reveal; Lance had a compelling desire to see him in something at least three sizes too large. He dove into his closet for an oversize wool sweater his sister had passed down to him after college in Michigan – not the most practical thing now that Lance lived full-time in Houston, but good for sick days, or guests who had little fat to spare. Lance pulled the large burgundy boat-neck off its hanger, shaking it out of any accumulated lint. Perfect.

Keith leaned his lower back against the counter when Lance returned, a leg crossed in front of the other and coffee held close to his face. His eyes slid over as Lance approached.

"Here," he said, holding the garment up by the shoulder seams.

"That'll swallow me."

"That's the point. C'mere," Lance said, beckoning with the hanging sweater. With some hesitation, Keith set his mug down and stepped closer, a vaguely questioning look in his dark eyes still. Lance nodded. The white morning light through the window gleamed on Keith's muscled shoulders and Lance felt all the more appreciative he'd chosen a boat-neck. Keith took the sweater by the bottom hem, looping it over his sleep-mussed head as Lance released it.

Merely quite slouchy on Lance, the sweater draped comically low off Keith's shoulder, ending halfway down his thighs, with the sleeves completely obscuring his hands. Lance hid a pleased grin behind his fist, and Keith blinked in bafflement at his swathed form. For all the world he appeared to have never worn anything remotely too big for him in his life. He raised an eyebrow as he rolled the sleeves up several times so he could use his hands, the resulting cuffs so bulky they made his wrists look even tinier. "Was this really necessary?" he asked grumpily when he caught the amused glint in Lance's eyes.

"Entirely," Lance admitted, sidling up against Keith's back when he turned away, hooking his hands in front of his waist and kissing under his ear. "I don't seem to hear you actually complaining, though."

"Hmm." Keith took a drink of coffee, his contented exhale wafting steam back to Lance's face. "When's your roommate back?"

Lance shrugged. "Haven't heard from him yet. Might not be back until later." He tilted his hips into Keith's suggestively. "We have the place to ourselves." His hand drifted lower, fingertips teasing what he thought was the front of Keith's belly – it ended up lower than that and Keith flinched.

"Not while I have a hot drink in my hands," he snapped, wrenching forward out of Lance's hold.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry," Lance effused, sensing there was more than a degree burn at risk here. That reaction was too visceral. Keith didn't offer any clues, just standing where he'd landed with his mug raised to his mouth but not taking even a drop. "I'm sorry," he emphasized, backing away a pace. Releasing a self-frustrated sigh, Keith scratched the back of his scalp, tangled strands catching on his fingers.

It's not you. I just…" he sighed again, shoulders heaving this time. "I'm not used to this."

"Yeah, you've said that already," Lance murmured, hoping he sounded neutral on the side of politely curious, rather than like he was accusing Keith of keeping secrets.

Keith's head ducked just a little from his discomfort, face dark with shame.

"I know I said you didn't have to tell me about it," Lance began, coming around the other side of the kitchen island to remain in Keith's field of vision while giving him plenty of space, "but if we're gonna do this, I kinda feel like I should know a bit of what's up. So I know how to take it," he added when suspicious violet eyes glared up at him through thick lashes, intimidating him now rather than charming.

"Do what, exactly?" Keith said in a low voice, the tremble betraying his hard tone. Lance dropped his hands to his sides beseechingly, deflating.

" _This_ ," he spoke in a hushed, hurt voice, " _Us_. You don't break up with a long-term boyfriend for a one-time fuck."

Was that how other people worked? Keith had always gravitated to the ones who wouldn't let him go. Lance had given him no reason to believe Keith was _his_ ; Bryce had. Lance stood more than an arm's length from him, hands at his sides. He hadn't held Keith tightly in sleep, hadn't bitten him hard enough to bruise or draw blood, and definitely hadn't plowed him so raw inside he could barely move for the rest of the day. And yet Lance would say he wanted him still?

At a humongous risk of everything they'd already pieced together, Lance dared to ask, "What happened with Bryce?"

Keith doggedly looked away. "Nothing. Nothing you're thinking of." And Keith would swear in court that was the truth; he'd always agreed to it, had always enjoyed it, and always looked forward to more. Lance didn't look happy with that answer.

"Did… did he take care of you?"

"I can take care of myself," Keith snapped, twisting bodily away but unable now to raise his head.

"But was he _good_ to you?" Lance pressed, barely above a whisper. If Bryce had used Keith as he wanted without respecting his emotional recovery after something so fundamentally _invasive_ …

And something about the little crack at the end of Lance's question wrenched something inside Keith out of place, and like a dam bursting every doubt he'd suppressed concerning Bryce flooded to the forefront of his mind, crowding out everything else he could possibly have shouted in denial and suddenly it was harder to breathe, to stay upright, his hands were losing grip—

"Hey, Keith, it's okay! Look at me," Lance's clear blue eyes broke through the cloudy whirlwind and Keith blinked up at him. The mug was lifted from his hands and set safely aside, Lance's steady hands finding his shoulders. "It's okay. You're okay." He breathed with him for a few minutes, rubbing his thumbs over the tops of his shoulders to coax the tension out of them.

"I'm sorry, Keith. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine, I— I probably would have realized it eventually." He shook his head at himself. "I swear he never _hurt_ me…"

"Just… didn't know he was damaging you anyway?" Lance hazarded a guess. Keith neither confirmed or denied, but the way he bit his lip and looked away again was enough for Lance. On impulse he pecked Keith's forehead. "It's okay," he said again, voice warmer, a little more hopeful. "You can take your time. I'm not in any hurry, I promise."

It seemed weird to Keith that anyone would promise to wait, only hours after they had already had sex. He blinked down at the floor between their bare feet, still unsure. Lance had long toes, too, he noticed. "You still want me?" he whispered, unbelieving.

"Of course," Lance said back just as quietly, squeezing his shoulders. "I meant every word that I said. You're special, Keith. Everyone says it all the time but I really have never known anyone like you. No one's ever made me feel the way you make me feel. Like…" he looked so dreamily at him Keith could have laughed if he wasn't so deep in his own anxiety. "I feel like I could fly when I see you. Like I could take on the whole damn universe as long as you were by my side." He grinned, a little dopily. "That's crazy to say to a guy I just met."

Not really, Keith wanted to say, when he himself felt he would take a bullet for this beautiful boy who'd gone from sweeping him off his feet to bringing him back down to earth. "A little bit, yeah," he agreed, a glint of humor returning to his eyes. Sighing, he closed the distance at last and leaned into Lance's chest, face tucking into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. With a little " _hmf_ " Lance wrapped him in a firm hug, nose burrowed behind his ear.

"Something tells me you don't mind a bit of crazy."

–

The rest of the morning was spent on showering, Netflix, and intermittent sessions of mutual body exploration. Lance had a swimmer's body, his waist and legs skinny but strong below his broad shoulders and chest. Bryce had been all-around huge – tall and bulk muscle, more than twice Keith's size by any measure.

Keith himself had a lifetime of total-body training in martial arts, and Lance seemed to particularly enjoy running his hands over the meaty back of his thighs and hips. Bryce had said they made him look much like a girl from behind (and his preference to wear his hair longer didn't help with that), and purposefully never touched Keith there if he could avoid it. When Lance walked his index and middle fingers up from the back of his knee toward his ass, Keith hadn't known what to make of it. But Lance took his time, finding little divots in the muscle fibers under his skin, teasing out knots as he happened upon them. When he reached the hem of his boxer briefs Keith stilled, wondering if he should stop him. Lance continued over the fabric toward the base of his spine, palm flattening warmly on his lower back.

"Okay?" he asked, hearing the catch in Keith's breathing. He nodded without looking over his shoulder. It wasn't bad, just… something he wasn't used to. "Tell me to stop if you don't like it."

"I like it," Keith said, voice muffled in his arms, face burning. Lance swirled his fingertip over the base of Keith's spine and lifted away, repeating the walking touches up the other leg.

"How can I get these legs for myself? You could crush the skulls of your enemies with these."

Blushing harder, Keith buried his face from all sight, only the messy top of his hair visible over his forearms. Lance laughed again. "What?" Keith bit sourly into the darkness under his arms.

"You're just so _cute_ ," Lance said without silliness, "In the bar last night you seemed all aloof and mysterious at first, and then you were such a _dork_ , and now you're the most adorable thing I've ever seen."

"I'm not sure I like people thinking I'm adorable," Keith groused, still hiding his blush.

"What if _I'm_ the one who thinks you're adorable?" Lance teased, now walking his fingers up Keith's spinal column. He dragged the tips on each "step," the light tickles fanning sparks of pleasure across Keith's back. Lance lifted onto his elbow as his hand progressed higher, ending the trek with a kiss at the very base of Keith's neck. "Is it okay if I think you're cute as hell?" he pleaded between Keith's shoulder blades, nuzzling the hypersensitive skin and gently breathing in the shower-sweet scent of his hair.

Keith turned his head to the side because it'd gotten too hot buried in his forearms, looking over his shoulder at Lance who continued to reverently nose along the muscles of his back. "I guess if it's you, it's okay."

Delighted blue eyes flickered up at him. Keith rolled over onto his back, and Lance followed him to lay his head on Keith's belly, gazing up at him. The short bristles of his hair tickled Keith's stomach, but in a way that made him feel oddly comforted, like a lounging cat or lap dog, rather than want to squirm away. Lance's hands landed in front of him, one in front of his face under Keith's ribs; Keith's floated up by his chest, uncertain where to rest. Noting his confusion, Lance offered his upper hand with the palm towards him, fingers splayed. Almost without hesitating this time Keith interlaced his fingers with Lance's, the other's larger hand fairly enveloping his as their palms meshed together.

"Can I ask," Lance said muzzily, as though suddenly half-asleep, "What's with the gloves all the time? You didn't even take them off to fuck…"

Keith's hand stiffened. Lance took in the stricken look on his face and back-pedaled, eyes widening in panic. "I don't _need_ to know, I'm just curious." He instinctively tightened his grip when Keith tried to pull away. "I don't mind. Really. It was kinda hot, actually…" His beet-red complexion did a lot to salve Keith's agitation. Still annoyed, Keith begrudgingly relaxed his fingers, letting their joined hands settle on his ribs.

"I have my reasons," he finally allowed as an explanation. Let Lance run his imagination wild with that. But the other boy seemed to forget the whole thing entirely, starting to ramble on about something his brother or brother-in-law had done one time at Christmas or something. Keith let him talk, content not to need to contribute to the conversation for a few minutes. His mind drifted, implanting himself idly in the scene Lance described, picturing Lance making so many little asides to him because he was there to listen to what he had to say. That same charisma from last night flourished again here, drawing him irresistibly in under his charms.

"I'd like to see it sometime," he said wistfully during a lull in Lance's anecdotes. "Varadero Beach," he said when Lance raised an eyebrow at him. "It sounds… sounds nice," he finished lamely – more like, it sounded nice to have _Lance_ there to show him around to all his old favorite haunts, the best seaside café for garlic knots, all the rest of the things Keith wouldn't know how to discover on his own.

"Maybe you can come with me next time I visit home," Lance said without missing a beat, squeezing Keith's fingers.

"You promise an awful lot of a guy," Keith teased, closing his eyes with a little wry smile.

"I think Mama and Papi would like you a lot," Lance elaborated, shifting a little higher on Keith's stomach. "And Abuelita's a _really_ great cook." One of his entwined fingers stroked the dip between two of Keith's ribs.

"If I need fattening up, then you need it more," Keith said flatly, lifting their hands off to the sheets.

"I didn't mean _that_ ," Lance answered, sounding caught. "I'm just not sure if you'd be _able_ to eat everything she put on your plate. Your tummy's so _small_."

"Starving college student," he replied only a little ironically, shifting his hips and legs self-consciously as his stomach chose exactly that moment to gurgle around its own emptiness.

"I can see that," Lance giggled, spontaneously kissing Keith's navel before pushing himself up. "It's lunchtime and as far as I know, you've only had coffee. Can I make you anything?"

Still reclined and close-eyed, Keith shrugged. "I can get McDonald's or something on the way home, it's fine."

He couldn't see but he still _felt_ Lance pulling a face in abject disgust. "Dude, don't you know how awful that stuff is for you?"

"It's cheap—"

"No. No lover of mine is going to subsist on fast food trash on my watch. You wait _right_ here." He startled Keith with a decisively firm kiss on his lips then bounced off the bed, leaving the door wide open behind him in his sudden burst of energy. Bemused, Keith sat up in bed, hastening to parse what Lance had said.

 _'No_ _**lover** _ _of mine…'_

Was that where they'd already arrived, so quickly? Maybe it was a slip of the tongue and Lance was just being performative and dramatic, but…

But then Keith considered again their moments together, from first talking, to Lance talking him down from his over-dramatic state, to how _carefully_ he'd had sex with him… And Keith hadn't gone home, he'd been invited to stay and have coffee, and now lunch, with more tender words and sweet touches in between. Lance didn't treat him like just another one-nighter; he regarded him with an easy familiarity, as if they had known each other for years rather than hours. He held him like a lover, more treasuring than Bryce or any other partner before.

That sounded just like Lance, though. Keith swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, reaching for the sweater he'd dropped on the floor. Lance made people feel special; that was his talent. Some people were simply able to make others feel like they mattered.

And wasn't that a nice feeling… Keith paused with his arms halfway through the overlarge sleeves. Bryce, for better or worse, had never given any verdict on how essential Keith was to his happiness, let alone whether his existence made any difference in the world. He made niceties and paid for dinners and a lot of drinks, but he could have another fuckbuddy in a minute if Keith ever stopped calling.

Lance, without saying anywhere near so much, had cherished every touch and taste and breath. That was clear enough in his gentleness, his languid movement, how he meditated over the most innocuous places on Keith's body. The way he said "beautiful" under his breath and he beamed at Keith's pinked cheeks every time. How he traced tiny little curlicues on the exposed back of Keith's hand when little sounds broke past his lips – little confused ones, little surprised ones; most mortifying, little pleasured ones. Lance could make him feel so much with just the simplest caresses, and if he didn't know better Keith would have said he'd fallen in love.

And there was a scary thought. The last thing Keith had ever wanted was to depend on somebody; all of his connections had been impersonal, loveless, going through the motions without any of the strings attached. Over time it had gotten easier to pull away at the end – he barely felt a thing now – but he now thought, what if he and Lance parted ways; and his heart twisted _painfully._ Lance had coaxed him into his life so _unconditionally_ , and his desire had only seemed to increase. And maybe Keith had really become so starved for true affection after all, that he couldn't picture ever being happy again without that beautiful, goofy boy at his side.

 _Maybe it's still worth a shot_ , a little hopeful voice whispered, _if he really is one of the good ones._ Still in thought, Keith finally threaded his hands the rest of the way through the sweater sleeves, tugging the garment in place over his head. Based on the way things had gone so far, what could it hurt to keep in touch? Lance at least seemed keen on him; that alone made a strong point in his favor.

Lance happened to appear in the doorway in that moment with two steaming plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and cut melon.

"I fried the eggs in the bacon drippings, so there's no butter or anything. I guess I should have asked if you're allergic to anything first…"

"Just lactose-intolerant," Keith shrugged, secretly flattered that Lance had not only remembered but actively avoided using any dairy whatsoever. Bryce had managed to forget all the time, no matter what. "Butter's usually fine, it's just milk fat," he supplied, but not upset at all about eggs cooked in bacon grease instead.

Grinning, Lance nodded as if he'd just filed the note away in the shiny new "Keith" folder in his mind, then passed the larger-portioned plate to Keith.

"You're skinnier than me, though," Keith tried to protest, offering it back. Lance gently pushed it by the rim away from his shirt.

"You're also using that brain of yours a lot more than I am. Eat." As if to make his point Lance sat at the far end of the bed where Keith couldn't reach, already with a forkful of food in his mouth. Sighing resignedly, Keith admitted he did feel extraordinarily hungry, and the food smelled really good, and Lance had gone to this trouble on top of everything else… At last he yielded and dove in, his hunger skyrocketing at the first bite.

He barely finished half of what Lance had given him – he'd always had a small appetite, which he insisted when Lance seemed hurt that he couldn't finish. "It's why I'm short," he said, trying to get Lance to laugh and forget about the whole thing.

"Well, I'll wrap the plate in case you're hungry again later - how 'bout that?" With some cheer back in his disposition, Lance took the plates out of the room. This time Keith followed him, walking more steadily now than when he'd first woken up.

"Is Hunk usually gone this long?" he asked in the kitchen, realizing it was already well past noon. Lance checked his phone on the counter.

"He's actually on his way as of about… twenty minutes ago." He cast an appraising eye over Keith's long, toned legs. "…Which means you should probably put some pants on. Maybe. I mean, we're all dudes, so it's up to you." He shrugged, further emphasizing his nonchalance about it. Keith peeked down past the hem of the oversize sweater, thinking he'd be quite content to strut around bare-legged if it meant Lance would keep looking at him like that, but the higher levels of his brain insisted that pants would make a better first impression on Lance's roommate, especially if they wanted to do this ever again – which he had a strong conviction they both did. "I can still get you sweats."

"I think I'm okay, now," Keith said airily, turning back towards Lance's bedroom and his discarded jeans.

"Let me know," Lance called after him. He may have taken a little longer to leave the room than he usually would; it was worth the heat of Lance's ravenous gaze on his thighs.

Smirking to himself, Keith bent over to sweep his black skinnies off the floor, shaking them out a bit. He felt unsteady on one foot still so he plopped down on the bed, slipping his legs into the chilled garment. The denim hugged his hips and ass a little more snugly than he would have asked for right now, but not so painfully he couldn't handle it. As much as he had liked the idea of literally being in Lance's pants, he thought it might look better for both of them if clothes-lending ended with the sweater, for now.

Being covered didn't stop Lance from running his eyes up and down Keith's form when he re-entered the kitchen, hands in his back pockets. He'd left the sweater behind as well, his jacket tied around his slim waist.

"Better?" Lance asked, noticing how Keith's demeanor had brightened now that he was back in his own, familiar clothes. Keith bobbed his head neutrally; he felt a little more in control with his own clothes on, if he was honest. Lance smiled softly, and returned to washing the dishes. Keith shuffled over to him, watching from his side.

"Thank you," Keith said shyly when Lance finished rinsing his hands, "For everything."

"Of course," Lance chirped, scrubbing his hands dry. " _Mi casa es su casa_." Rubbing an arm self-consciously, Keith turned to lean back against the counter, eyes on the floor. "What's up?"

He shrugged. "I…" He sighed, looking up, but not at Lance. "You… you've been… Fuck." He shook his head in frustration, hating the sound of the words in his head even as he knew he needed to say them now, or never. "I've never felt this way about anyone before, either. And I keep trying to tell myself it's just another damn crush, that there's no way something so good could happen to _me_." A tear squeezed out past his guard. Lance set the kitchen towel on the counter, his full attention on Keith. "But no one's ever treated me the way you do, either, and… I can't help thinking that… that maybe…"

Lance's fingers slipped between his own, at once bolstering him and terrifying him. If Lance felt exactly the same way, if there was any possibility in this reality… Keith didn't think he could handle that, let alone comprehend it. He flipped his hand over, palm to leather-guarded palm with Lance. Tightened his grasp. Lance pressed back. "Is this okay?" Keith whispered so quietly he could barely hear his own words over the blood rushing in his ears.

Lance's grip tightened again, and he leaned his forehead onto Keith's shoulder, eyes closed reverently. His breath came even and deep, a steadying counterpoint to Keith's accelerated rhythm. "Just tell me what you want," Lance said in a level, calming voice. Keith relaxed minutely. "Say the words. I'm already yours."

Shivering, Keith craned his neck and pressed his face into Lance's hair, feeling his tears wet the short bristles. "Will you stay with me?"

Would he survive if he jumped off the edge?

Lance straightened, his free hand stroking Keith's arm on the way up, ending around his neck and jaw. "Yeah. Yeah, I will." He gave him a chaste kiss, then touched their foreheads, soothing the pad of his thumb over Keith's tear-stained cheek. "I'm not goin' anywhere if you don't want me to."

And so Keith fell.

He let himself collapse, tears dropping freely as something like relief washed over him. Not just relief, no, it went deeper than that. Higher than euphoria. The strangest kind of peace, even as he came apart at the seams in Lance's steady arms. Like he could stop running now; he could stop searching. He'd looked for one specific thing all his life, so elusive he could never manage to even name it; every time it felt within reach it would slip his fingers again.

Here, against Lance's chest with the firm rhythm of his heartbeat surrounding him, Keith finally found it. His restless spirit calmed. He gripped tighter around Lance's back. _Home_ , he thought in awe, thrilling at the word whispered inside his head. He'd found _Home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> srsly can someone scream over my bby son keef w me pls


	4. Your handprint's on my soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Please don't ever become a stranger / Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pokes head around corner*
> 
> *squeaks and dodges flying machetes*
> 
> Uhhhhhhh so I got _life'd_ , repeatedly. I don't have anything resembling a proper excuse, just several more months working on this final chapter because, among other things, I decided after proofreading it a few times that I didn't like it as much as I wanted to. Hence the _**extremely(!!!!)**_ disproportionate delay.
> 
> This chapter beta'd by the effervescently wonderful @angelofthequeers. ILU bae.
> 
> I hope that with our powers comBIned I managed to give this little fic a proper send-off. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, kudos, and bookmarks, friends. I've had a glorious time. (hugs)

Lance arrived at Keith's little house with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "Hey, man," he said brightly when Keith edged the door open, cheeks rosy from the light chill in the air.

"Hey, man," Keith blurted back, nerves gathering momentum now that Lance actually stood on his front porch. He felt his own face color, at how two such simple words had come to mean everything in such a short span of time. Lance beamed at him. Their week apart melted away.

"Can I come in?" Lance asked shyly, ducking his head. Jumping, Keith nodded and pulled the door open wider, giving him passing room.

"Sorry about the mess," he said automatically, realizing only as he said it that he barely owned enough to even make a mess with. Lance surveyed the entry area anyway, peering past the kitchen space to the living room. A door led off to the bathroom, and another one beyond that into Keith's bedroom.

"Don't worry about it," Lance said casually, although his knowing smile confirmed he saw no mess at all. But messy or no, Keith knew his living situation looked pretty shabby. He'd tidied the rooms as well as he could, even draped a beaten throw (well, an old horse blanket he'd attempted to air out) onto the threadbare couch to smarten things up. But anyone could tell he'd basically claimed this little shack as his own and no one could stop him, if anyone even cared at all. Lance was the first who vocally did.

"There's running water and electricity," Keith had tossed off Lance's concerns once, "I don't need much else." Lance had quickly learned it was a lost cause to try to convince Keith to change his mind on anything, so he cheerfully took it on himself to ease Keith's way wherever he could – regifting a bakeware set they had absolutely no space for, asking Keith if he needed some new-to-him shirts when he cleaned out his wardrobe, and spontaneously inviting him when Hunk was in a "test-kitchen" sort of mood. He seemed happier when Keith had decent clothes and a full belly, so Keith was content to indulge him, especially as it meant spending more time with Lance, or wrapped in the remnants of Lance's scent.

Lance stepped further into the house and finally set his bag on the floor near the couch, scoping around. "Somehow, I was expecting a light bulb on a string and two milk crates, the way you went on."

"Sorry," Keith said without quite understanding why.

"It's nice. It's… rustic," Lance tried, turning on the spot. "Cozy. Spartan. Very you." He didn't make clear which one; Keith's ears burned. "Here, I brought you something," Lance said, kneeling to unzip a side pocket on his duffel bag. He passed the small box up to Keith's hands, and he turned it over. "I hope they fit," Lance said bashfully, as Keith pulled the lid off to reveal a gleaming pair of new leather gloves. "I, uh, I kinda noticed that your ones you have are getting kinda sad-looking. I thought those looked like the same kind…"

Keith heard him but was more focused on the gloves themselves. They felt better-quality than the ones he already had, but that meant they would last longer. There was even a small bottle of conditioner underneath them. He ran the pads of his fingers along the soft leather, wondering whether he should try them on then and there.

"Do you like them?" Lance asked hopefully, even as the appreciative smile ghosted across Keith's face.

"Yeah," he said in a soft voice, heart skipping. "I do, thank you..."

Still locked on the gloves, Keith squatted down on the couch, and pulled one of his old ones off to check the size. The new glove felt made for him, gliding over his knuckles smooth as butter and hugging his palms without compromising his grip and dexterity. "They're perfect," he half-whispered, breath catching. The cushion bowed to one side as Lance sat down next to him, their thighs touching. "Thank you," he said again, overwhelmed. "I don't have anything for you, though."

"That's okay," Lance said, resting his chin on Keith's shoulder. "Having you here is enough."

Feelingly unseasonably warm, Keith eased the new glove off, returning it to the box. "I feel like I should be doing more," he mentioned quietly, brow creasing. Lance looked up at him from the corner of his eye.

"Did I stutter?" Lance quipped, his cheek bumping Keith's jaw as he smiled indulgently. "You just need to be you." Keith fidgeted his hands in his lap, picking at a callous on his bare palm. Nothing about this conversation was new, unfortunately.

"It's almost Christmas, though. I feel like I should…" his voice trailed off. Tutting, Lance kissed what bare shoulder he could reach under Keith's shirt.

"Tell you what – bring something to Christmas dinner, and we'll be even."

"What dinner?"

"The one I invited you to just now," Lance said cheekily, kissing Keith's shoulder again. "Bring those 'pregnancy craving' grits you were going on about that one time, cos Hunk's convinced even _he_ can't make that stuff edible."

"You literally need to have grown up in the South," Keith sighed, reaching his hand around to pet Lance's hair – he'd let it grow out for the past couple months, and Keith liked this shaggier length better. "It's like people from Seattle and pretentious coffee."

Lance pulled a face. "Starbucks is shit, and you know it."

Keith barked a laugh. " _I_ do. I'm not sure _y'all've_ figured it out."

"Did you just… never mind."

"What?"

" _Never mind_." Lance kissed Keith's bare arm where it wrapped around the side of his head.

"Lance," Keith insisted, dropping his arm. Lance stiffened, imperceptibly realizing.

"Sorry, babe," he soothed, threading his fingertips down Keith's bicep, "You do know all the different Texas accent memes, right?" He sat up to better check Keith's expression. Lance frowned to match his. "Probably funnier in the north. Y'ain't, y'all'd've, all that?"

"No one here talks like that," Keith said sharply.

"I _know_ ," Lance pressed, curling his fingers around Keith's gloved fist, "I guess I just wasn't thinking." He paused, pouting at Keith's stern face. "You _did_ say 'y'all,' though."

Keith scowled and rolled his eyes, but he didn't move away or try to wrench out of Lance's grasp. Taking a chance, Lance leaned against his shoulder again, working an arm under his to clasp his hand. Without hesitation Keith laced their fingers, holding it firmly palm to leather-clad palm. Lance relaxed a little. Keith wasn't actually _mad_ , if he still wanted physical contact with him.

They sat in silence for a while, Lance waiting for the tension to fall from Keith's back and for him to settle into the quiet place they'd found. He said nothing about it, just traced idle curlicues over the patch of skin cut out on the back of Keith's glove. On the edge of his vision, Keith clenched and relaxed his other hand, which rested bare on his thigh. Short nails dug into his palm and then released again. Thumb and finger pads slid against each other. In all his time knowing Keith, Lance had never seen him bare-handed. It was like seeing someone naked. So Lance tried to look away out of that same sort of courtesy, but at the same time he couldn't help admiring the milky-white skin, unexpectedly smooth except for the long-worn callouses on his palm. Keith's fingers were longer than they looked when he had the half-finger gloves on, and to his surprise there was no tan line.

The more Lance observed, the more he wanted to reach out and touch, to envelope Keith's bare, fidgeting hand in his fingers. Feel the soft, warm skin.

"Wanna get something to eat?" he murmured, drawing their focus away from the tension permeating the room despite his efforts. Keith shifted his legs, gripping the fabric over one knee with pale fingers. "I'm starving. Traffic was _insane_ getting out of the city."

"What are you in the mood for?"

"Hmm, besides you? I think I saw a gyro spot on the way here. Orrr you know I can always go for Italian." He nibbled on the point of Keith's collarbone and Keith groaned, head falling back. Lance grinned against his skin. "Probably too heavy for tonight, though."

"I'd like Italian," Keith blurted, mind spinning as Lance's hand snaked under his shirt hem at his hip.

"Yeah, a kitchen covered in cheese sounds like it'd be _great_ for your tummy right before sex," Lance teased, stroking across Keith's navel. Keith closed his fingers over the skittering lump in the fabric. "Asian fusion, maybe?"

"You've got one right here," Keith scoffed, turning his head to encounter poised lips.

"I could really go for some kimchi, thinking about it."

"You are not putting your mouth on any part of my body if you're really going to have kimchi," Keith groused, clenching at the idea of fermented spice plus, uh, sensitive skin. Chuckling, Lance kissed his jawline and settled his chin on his shoulder again. He flattened his palm against Keith's belly, and they wrapped their fingers through the fabric.

"Considering I want to taste every single _inch_ of you while I'm here, I can get kimchi another time," Lance conceded, and Keith blushed the deepest yet. Knowing Lance, knowing him as a lover, he could mean that a number of different ways, including literally. With a little noise of exertion Lance tipped them both over, spooning up behind Keith as they settled on the small couch, legs tangled and dangling off the edge. "We could just stay here for a while."

"I thought you were hungry?" Keith reminded him, not quite relaxing into his embrace yet. A huff of warm air brushed the back of his neck.

"I can wait. I'm just glad to see you right now. I missed you."

It had only been a week since they last saw each other – Keith had finals and Lance needed to go to jury duty – but it had been one of the longest weeks of Keith's life. Only the occasional ranty text from Lance about courtroom nonsense helped him make it to _this_ weekend, which they had planned all to themselves.

"Missed you too," Keith returned, affection blooming in his chest. He really had. Now that he lay between Lance's arms again there seemed to be a little more color in the world, a little more light. Lance sighed contentedly and wrapped Keith in a little closer, hooking a knee around his leg. His soft breaths across Keith's nape coaxed his heart rate back down to normal, and bit by bit his own respiration slowed until his eyelids began to droop. They might end up falling asleep here, he realized hazily, lips twitching up at the idea. His couch wasn't as comfortable as the one Lance had, but it was just wide enough for them to lay side by side if they wanted to. They never wanted to; when it came to bed sharing, Keith couldn't sleep without Lance against his back, and Lance grew restless whenever Keith left his arms.

Sighing happily, Lance rewrapped his hand over Keith's, drawing them up in line with their hearts. "This is so nice," he said into the quiet, lips tickling Keith's hairline. "Seriously, I missed you. Like, a _ton_."

Keith suppressed an appreciative chuckle in his throat, pressing back against Lance's chest to feel the rhythm of his heart. Such a steady beat. He timed his breath to it.

 _I love him,_ he thought without shyness as he closed his eyes, heart skipping. _I love him. I love him. I love him._

"What are you thinking about?" Lance whispered, squeezing Keith's hand. Flushing, Keith drew his lips in, anything to keep a dopey smile at bay.

"Nothing in particular," he replied as nonchalantly as he could manage. He felt Lance smile against his neck.

"Your heart sped up. Wanted to make sure you were good like this."

Allowing his characteristic smirk at least, Keith huffed, "I'm good, just like this." And he really didn't need anything else right now, which had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize and accept as normal. Until Lance, Keith had fallen into a cycle of meet someone new, hook up, fuck a few more times maybe, repeat. If there was a level more dressed-down than casual sex, Keith had invented it. Even Bryce, with all the nights they'd spent in a haze of booze and fucking the pent-up stress out of each other – it was all just fucking. It could never have meant anything more.

With Lance, Keith finally understood what people meant when they called it "making love." Nights with Lance felt meditative. Intentional. Lance slowed time and asked Keith to breathe. Their times together became deeply personal, more focused on the nuances of pleasuring each other along the way to climax, not so much caring to reach that mind-numbing bliss so quickly. And that was if they even had sex at all. A lot of the time, it was simply this – laying close, sharing each others' space, lazy caresses over muscles and bones, sweet light massages.

With another contented sigh, Lance shifted higher on the couch, tucking Keith's head under his chin. "Feel like I could fall asleep here," he mused, rubbing his eyes. Keith snorted.

"Are you hungry, horny, or sleepy? Make up your mind," he said, tilting his head up to just glimpse Lance's face.

"I think I'm just Keith-starved," Lance decided after a moment, "All I could think about while I sat in that courtroom was how straight to the point you would have been about the case. If everyone on the jury thought like you, it could have been over by lunch on the first day."

"Don't count on that. You've never seen me arguing with myself."

Laughing, Lance kissed his crown. "I'll take your word for it."

Keith hummed and folded his hand over Lance's when it dropped back to his hip. Lance had thought of him – imagined him at his side, even – the entire time they were apart.

 _I love him_. He drew Lance's hand to his lips and kissed the top of his wrist. His lashes tickled the others' knuckles and his heart thrilled at the happy giggle in response.

"You are so damn cute," Lance said indulgently, nuzzling Keith's hair, "I can't believe you're my boyfriend."

"Still realizing you're mine," Keith whispered, keening up into Lance's strengthening embrace, rolling in his arms to face him, arm looping under his to hold them even closer. Keith tickled the nape of Lance's neck, teasing with just the side of his bare hand. Lance only had eyes for his, smile broadening the moment Keith lost to his desperate blush. "Why me?" His hand curled around Lance's shoulder, the warmth soaking into his dry palm.

Lance shrugged, eyes glowing. "Why not?" Keith ducked his head into Lance's chest, hiding in his soft warmth. Lance now guided Keith's wrist to his mouth, mirroring the kiss just below his palm, where the cuff would have ended if he'd kept the glove on. _I_ _**love** _ _him._ Lance's kisses trailed down his forearm, to the inside of his elbow where he draped it around his neck to hold Keith closer still. "I just wanna stay like this forever," he purred, hands roving over Keith's back and shoulders, massaging clusters of bunched muscle until Keith fully melted into his arms.

"No objections here," Keith sighed back, shivering in pleasure when Lance's fingers tickled the base of his spine.

"Hmm." The low hum of agreement vibrated through Keith's chest. How could such a simple sound lift so much anxiety away? How could a mere embrace anchor him in place? How could a boy a year younger than him do so much without even trying that hard?

Keith's fingers clutched the back of Lance's shirt. He never wanted to let this one go.

They stayed entwined for several minutes, Lance's chest expanding and shrinking under Keith's arm as he breathed, Keith inhaling Lance's warm scent. It wasn't the leather and tobacco scent that he craved from toddlerhood memory but it grounded him just the same, reassured him that everything happening was real. Unembarrassed, he buried his face deeper into Lance's shirt, taking one of the buttons in his teeth almost by some animal instinct, some drive to claim him irrevocably, perhaps.

"Hey now," Lance tutted, hand in Keith's hair, "If you were feeling impatient, you should've said something." He nosed into Keith's neck, nails raking over his nape. Keith shivered, arching into Lance's hips. "Alright, then," Lance said as he closed his lips over the juncture between Keith's neck and shoulder, nipping and sucking as Keith threw a leg over his in an attempt to straddle, but the back of the couch interrupted the movement. To compensate, Lance drew his knee up, nudging his thigh into the point between Keith's legs. Keening, Keith let Lance roll him onto his back, legs crossing at the ankle over his slim hips as Lance pressed them down in to the cushions, hands in his hair and mouth laving over his collarbone.

"Is this okay?" Lance checked, resting his forehead on Keith's when he broke away for air. He could feel the other boy's thighs quivering around his waist, and Keith had paled slightly since turning over, rather than the lewd flush that he'd come to expect. Watching his overbright violet eyes carefully, Lance threaded his hand through the hair at Keith's temple, tucking it behind his ear. Stroked the pad of his thumb over his cheekbone. Keith blinked and refocused on him. "You okay?" Lance repeated, easing off as much as Keith's vise-like grip would allow. Keith nodded a little too quickly and immediately, compulsively pulled Lance back down, arms wrapped around his neck and chest suddenly heaving. "Baby, what is it?" Lance whispered, shushing with quiet Spanish endearments when Keith's trembling grew more violent.

"Sorry," he managed, blinking tears away from the corners of his eyes, "h-had a moment."

"It's okay, Keith," Lance assured him, "Take your time." There was no rush. He waited with Keith for his nerves to ease back down, and it took a few minutes, and they said nothing.

When Keith's grasp loosened, Lance slipped off onto his side, arm draped loosely across Keith's ribs. Watched him, tracing swirls over his shoulder and chest while Keith's eyes followed his fingers. Still nothing needed saying. This had happened before.

"What's up?" Lance whispered after a minute or so, when the silent tears had ceased falling but Keith still looked miles away. He blinked, letting his head fall back and staring at the ceiling. Lance continued tracing curlicues over the cotton fabric. He realized it was one of the shirts he had handed off recently, insisting it would suit Keith better. And it did, so well Lance almost didn't recognize it as the same garment.

Keith's hand drifted up toward his chest, shy of Lance's twirling fingers. Lance stilled, giving Keith the option to take it or bat it away. Keith hesitated, lips a thin, terse line. Heaved a sigh, still fixing violet eyes on the soot-marked ceiling.

"I'm not him," Lance uttered quietly. Keith drew his knees up. "I'm not leaving, either; not unless you ask me to." A breathy shudder ghosted over his arm, still clasped around Keith's chest. Anchoring him in place, reminding him he was still here.

Keith's mouth twitched on an unspoken counter – " _you might._ " He tried to believe Lance's promises. When he couldn't, he at least tried not to reject them. The fact Lance was here now said a lot, and he knew it, but his heart did not.

"Is it okay if I hold you?" Lance asked in that same barely-there voice, heart aching as he confronted yet again the complete lack of anything he could do beyond merely offering his presence at Keith's side.

The veiled request seemed to take a moment to reach Keith's ears, but then he nodded mutely and allowed Lance to shift closer, turning onto his side to meet chest to chest, hands balled in front of him in a mimicry of a fighting stance. Lance soothed his hands over the clenched fists, easing them open and nesting his fingers within them. "It's okay, Keith," he affirmed, keeping his distance while Keith relaxed a bit. Then he draped his arm over Keith's hunched shoulders, pulling him against his body and pressing their foreheads together. Keith still felt tense but as he breathed in the safe darkness under Lance's arm he began to relax muscle by muscle, even sighing a little as the bulk of tension eased out of his back. He still trembled every so often, but even that died down the longer they lay there like that, still and silent and asking for nothing more than each other.

"I'm sorry," Lance said at last. His eyes were closed, he looked like he could be sleep-talking. "That was too much at once, wasn't it?"

Keith blinked up at him. Lance's eyes opened, and his long warm hand smoothed over the tensed lines of his back. Blue spheres searched his violet eyes, reading the weariness and anxiety he had tried to hide. "I just barged into your space and started taking advantage of you."

"It's-- I'm fine," Keith protested, "I just…" He blushed, unable to make his words come out right. Lance stroked his hair.

"I made you cry. It's not fine."

"Lance, it just happens. You know this."

Lance smoothed a tear away. "I still feel bad when it's because of me."

Shaking his head, Keith gave up on making him understand why none of this was ever his fault. Not really. But Lance wouldn't hear it, taking the blame for himself. So he let Lance draw him in even closer, his gentle heat enveloping him. Somehow, when he lay surrounded by Lance, he always felt a little bit better the longer he stayed that way.

"I know you're not him," he said at length, voice muffled in Lance's shirt. Lance combed his fingers through Keith's hair. Tucked a strand behind his ear, kissed his crown long and reverent. As if he could impart good feelings through the touch of his lips alone. And maybe he could, because Keith could feel himself melting into the other's arms again, like nothing had ever happened. "Thank you. For staying. Not running away when I'm like this."

"Of course," Lance said, twining a lock of Keith's hair around his finger and kissing his forehead again. "I want you to be happy. Let me know if there's _ever_ anything I can do to help you." There wasn't really anything Keith could say to or against that – this was who Lance _was_.

"Stay?" Keith reiterated, hands tense around Lance's ribs. Like the very utterance would break this gossamer spell of quiet and serenity he'd managed to find here. Lance smiled warmly, offering another kiss.

"Not goin' anywhere," he promised, strengthening his hold. Keith thought about asking him to pull the blanket down over them, but it still smelled like dust and a bit like horse, so he decided better not; not to mention Lance generated enough body heat for the two of them, and so he settled in against that solid line of heat and let the bated breath out through his nose, hands before his face to warm them between his and Lance's chests. His heart beat settled too, a steady rhythm timed to his even breathing, and tempered by the infectious calm Lance seemed to exude.

"Better?" Lance whispered. Keith nodded, a little embarrassed after the fact, even if Lance insisted he had nothing to feel ashamed of. "Good," he hummed, running his palms up Keith's forearms when he gave a small shiver. "Warm enough?" He blanketed himself over Keith when he shivered again and made an unsatisfied sound. "Okay?" he checked again. Keith's next hum might have been a purr, and Lance chuckled.

"I wanna stay like this for a while," Keith admitted, eyes shuttered as weariness crept up on him. The weight of Lance's body took a different sort of heaviness and he managed to finally let go, becoming pliant underneath him and surrendering to the fate the day had in store for him.

Lance did nothing but hold him, petting his hair and his arms when he fidgeted. Nothing bad would happen. Keith was safe, here.

Lance's breaths grew longer, and his eyes fell closed. Keith allowed the same. He'd only needed this, he decided. Whatever else he wanted to happen, they had the entire weekend to figure out. A pang of disappointment briefly darkened his thoughts. Lance always said he didn't mind, but, well… He hated to risk whether that might not be the case.

His heart quickened. He wanted. To. He wanted. He wondered if he could convince Lance. He shifted, tried to thread a leg between his.

"Shh…" Lance intoned, hearing the catch in Keith's breath and soothing a hand down his back and up. "We don't need to do it," he continued, eyes still serenely closed. "All I want is right here," he said, tracing his long fingers down the side of Keith's face before tilting his jaw up to kiss his lips.

 _Ah_. That was all he needed, Keith amended. He wanted more. But more really could wait, if he would just let himself experience the moment they'd built. So he allowed a quiet sigh, nuzzling under Lance's cheek, hoping the warmth and the darkness could soothe his frayed emotions.

Lance seemed content with largely the same, his touches meandering and nonspecific, fingertips finding the unattended spots which craved it most and teasing the anxieties out of them. Sometimes he mirrored Keith's relieved shudders with his own.

The minutes passed them by. The sunlight dimmed. Keith forgot he had even gotten upset. He remembered Lance would not forget so swiftly. He put it out of his mind with a stern command and centered his focus on how amazing it felt to lay in Lance's arms. As if sensing this turn, Lance stroked his arm and shoulder, heaving a deep, soul-contented sigh.

How Keith ever found something like this he would never understand. But he had found Lance, and maybe one day he would believe that Lance was actually _his_.

Neither of them moved for several more minutes beyond the occasional reach for the other's lips or jaw or neck, and if Keith didn't suspect otherwise he might have thought they intended to doze the evening away.

"What if I still want to?" Keith wondered aloud, the restless flutters in his belly starting up again. He pinched Lance's shirt collar between thumb and forefinger, imagining it drifting to the floor, as Lance slid inside him with a single practiced thrust of his lithe and toned body.

Grinning indulgently, Lance said, "Then we'll try again. If you're sure."

Body feeling warm, Keith insisted. "I'm sure. I want you."

Lance didn't seem in any hurry, but he shifted off his side so he could reach him more easily when the moment struck, lips briefly trailing over Keith's knuckles like he were the fabled Prince Charming, offering a promise of more to come. For the moment he let out another happy little sigh, nuzzling his face in the long hair over Keith's ear. Breathed deep. Relaxed. Cradled in silence.

"...Are you wearing Quintessence?" Lance asked after some time, sounding half-asleep. Keith flushed. Hunk had surreptitiously passed him a sample vial, saying with a bit of wink-and-nod that Lance went crazy for the golden notes of amber and grapefruit. The strangely urgent way Lance nosed around his ear confirmed it.

"Yes," Keith breathed, speaking to more than Lance's spoken inquiry as he opened his legs, inviting him even closer.

"God, it was _made_ for you, wasn't it." Lance followed him into arousal, pulled out of his stupor by his recognition of the sparkling fragrance. "Who told you? Did Pidge tell you? I owe her pizza. A _giant_ one." No one could say if Lance or Keith led the turn but in a swift motion the latter had flipped onto his back, the former crawling hungrily over his torso. "D'you think they can make one as tall as she is? Cos I think that would be almost big enough." Lance ground his hips against Keith, and the animalistic interest spiked his blood pressure in ways the other boy couldn't miss. Lance nosed his collarbone and around his neck again. Closed his lips over the pulse point on his throat, teeth gently scraping and sending shivers of electricity through his body.

" _Hmm_ ," Keith whined, drawing his leg up to wrap it over Lance, hands threading in his hair. Lance made a feral sound in his throat and Keith twitched with desire, pulling him closer yet. He felt so warm, solid, here, safe.

"I didn't recognize it until just now," Lance mused aloud, dragging his lips along Keith's shoulder, placing little kisses along the way. "It smells completely different when I wear it."

"I've never worn cologne before," Keith blurted, gazing up at the ceiling without really seeing anything, lost in the sensation of Lance traveling inquisitively down his body, kissing everywhere he found a source of fragrance, everywhere Keith had dotted a bit according to the multitude of WikiHows he'd consulted. "Should I?" his voice wavered as Lance chose that moment to follow a scent trail down his hip, under the waistband of his leggings.

"If you want to," Lance purred, fingers kneading the muscle at the side of his hipbone, the friction casting up more of the warm notes he'd been chasing. Keith hooked his fingers under his waistband, edging the hem lower on his torso so Lance's mouth could travel further still. His teeth caught on the thinner skin inside his thigh and Keith shuddered, bucking his hips involuntarily and just managing to subdue it enough to not break Lance's nose. His face burned when Lance craned azure eyes up to him, seemingly oblivious to the entirely different burn radiating just inches from his face. "Did you like that?" he confirmed, looking pleased with himself. Keith's fingers spasmed, clenching into fists as Lance carefully nipped him there with intent, sucking and licking the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh, traveling over his pelvis but blatantly ignoring the aching need between his legs. Keith groaned and threw his head back, arching his spine. He was conscious of every twitch of Lance's body through the thin fabric of his leggings, the lithe denim-clad thighs straddling one of his and sinewy calves hooking him in place as he reared back up to decide how he wanted to pleasure Keith next. Lance ran the tips of his nails up and down the grain of the slick fabric, setting off sparks of tingling pleasure that made Keith whine and curl his toes. His free leg drew higher up and Lance repeated the teasing stroking on the exposed hamstring, prickling a little bit in the inside of his knee.

"God damn it," Keith huffed, unable to hide his lewd grin, "I was wondering when you'd find that."

"Here?" Lance asked, drawing little curlicues in the kneepit, his eyes shining with mirth at the sight of Keith falling apart under him into a mewling, wanton mess.

"Jesus Christ," he wheezed, barely acknowledging that Lance had hiked that leg over his shoulder now, applying the lightest pressure of massage in the muscle fibers adjacent to tease him (more like drive him insane). "I hate you."

"I know," Lance replied easily, kissing Keith's calf through the fabric. "Why else would you keep me around?"

Keith sank towards Lance on the couch, attempting to grind his other thigh up between Lance's legs. Somehow he managed the desired result, and Lance's pupils dilated as he seemed to momentarily lose control of his posture. "Well, the sex is a pretty damn good reason."

Lance raked his nails from the pit of Keith's knee down the back and inside of his thigh to land underneath the point of heat between his legs, fingering with just the right amount of pressure on the perineum to enthrall and frustrate Keith at the same time. "Hm, I can't really argue with that. Also, your cute face." He didn't have to look up from between Keith's legs to know how deeply the other boy colored at that, just like every time.

"Says the _model_ ," Keith groused back, voice pitching mortifyingly high when Lance fondled his entrance through the layers of fabric.

"Former. Sort of. Only when friends needed help with their portfolios." His expression turned philosophical even as he teased around between the back of Keith's tailbone and the couch, an unbelievable contrast to Keith still writhing under his not-at-all reflective ministrations. "I can ask if they can send me some prints, if you'd like to see. I think you'd like the fantasy-themed ones – I'm shirtless in most of those," he said with a wink. If Keith's eyes fluttered closed in that moment it was because of Lance's electric touch on the very base of his tailbone, _not_ because he had fantasies of boudoir-esque shots and a half-clothed Lance in full elven makeup flashing in his mind.

"That begs the question of why the fuck you're not shirtless right _now_ ," he growled, pawing toward the buttons of Lance's shirt but too dazed by his own desire to have much effect. Smirking, Lance caught his wrists, pecking the tips of the longest fingers on each hand.

"Easy does it, kitten," Lance cooed, pinning Keith's wrists on the couch above his head as he leaned forward to kiss him deeply. Keith's jaw relaxed against the kiss, his body going gradually limp as Lance coaxed his tongue into play, hypnotizing him by his mouth alone. Lance loved to tease; he especially loved to tease _Keith_ , and by now he knew so many ways to wind him up or settle him down as they sought. Sex with Lance never got boring or even predictable; Lance managed to flip a different switch every time.

When Keith fell totally pliant under Lance's mouth, he released his wrists. "Keep 'em right there," he breathed, then sat back on his heels in full view of Keith's hungry gaze as he took every tortuous second he could to undo one button of his shirt at a time. He slowly swept the fabric away from his hips, exposing the firm muscle of his waist and belly; and sinuously shrugged the material down his arms and back. The impish gleam in his eyes told it all: it drove Keith to distraction to see Lance's body, made his blood run hot to be denied every compulsion to lay his hands all over it, to claim the peaks and valleys of muscle and fine bone with his tongue and fingers and teeth.

"Good kitty," Lance praised, rewarding Keith's restraint with feather-light strokes up his trembling arms, balancing his heated torso along Keith's shivering chest to kiss him.

"Can I—?"

"Hmm…" Instead of giving a definitive answer Lance moved back down Keith's body, slipping hot hands under his shirt to tease the sensitive skin over his ribs even as he moved lower still.

"Lance," Keith panted, squirming when he reached the aching hardness between his legs. As if he'd planned it all along deft fingers hooked in the waistband of his leggings and shimmied them all the way down Keith's hips. He'd aggravatingly left his underwear in place, and he nosed over the black fabric to the fine hairs just above the waistband.

"I've never asked, but do you shave yourself here?" Lance asked as if his face were anywhere except above right above someone's erection, and Keith scoffed.

"It's genetic. I don't grow any hair there."

"...Awesome. And unfair," Lance concluded after a perplexed silence, then slipped the hem down just a bit with his teeth.

"What, you thought this whole time I messed around with a razor right _there_?"

"Well, you like knives a _little_ too much-- I deserved that," he conceded when Keith broke the rules to lightly swat him. "I figured waxing. Or Nair. Ingrowns would _not_ be a cute look on you."

"Oh, shut up," Keith snapped, "Just get on with it."

Chuckling to himself at Keith's endearing impatience, Lance slid the boxer briefs the rest of the way off Keith's hips, dragging them along with the leggings down his pale limbs, off his ankles, dropping them to the floor. "You know you just signed yourself up for a _lot_ more head in the future?"

"How will I ever forgive myself?" Keith responded dryly, breath hitching when Lance licked a warm stripe from base to tip, the subsequent chill capturing his attention. Smirking, Lance teased the top with his lips again, just grazing the sensitive flesh with the cutting edge of his teeth. _"_ _Jeeeeeeeeezus_ _,"_ he keened, arching. He groaned on an inhale when Lance's mouth enveloped him, the velvet warmth of his tongue and throat drawing him closer yet to release. His head rolled on the cushion, thighs drawing up and squeezing Lance's shoulders. A curious fingertip pressed into the ring of muscle at his entrance, and on Keith's next exhale it pushed in up to the first knuckle. Even now Lance continued sucking him off, humming a little to stimulate the head at his throat with deep vibrations.

"How are you— _ahh_ _!_ " Keith winced as a second finger pushed in, the two slipping further inside. It didn't hurt – much. Lance always took care this wouldn't hurt. But still Keith never quite got used to this, the feeling of Lance inside him, the sweet pressure and easy fullness whether it was his fingers or his cock. Maybe it was because Lance always took things so slowly, allowing them to bask in every twitch of overstimulated muscle, relish in every unchecked sigh. Maybe it was because Keith always felt nervous as a virgin again to have Lance positioned above and within him, to give him power over the most vulnerable part and state of him – someone he cared about too much, trusted too much to keep him whole. Anything could still go wrong, he feared; anything could tear this thing apart, shatter him into pieces.

A third finger joined the two inside and Keith moaned into his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut at the light show behind his lids. A spurt of cum hit the back of Lance's throat and Lance gave a self-satisfied laugh in his chest. "Don't you ever change," he said when he pulled off with a slick-sounding pop of his lips.

"Hn," Keith grunted, biting on a compulsive apology. Lance didn't mind whenever Keith came into his mouth. He tended to forget that in the moment. Lance leaned forward over his body to kiss him, traces of cum still on his lips and tongue. Not the worst he'd ever tasted. Keith had never particularly liked giving head, and Lance had never insisted he return any favors. He seemed happy enough to do it all himself.

Lance splayed his fingers against his inner walls now, groping further inside him, twisting into the most sensitive spots he'd somehow learned by heart. No longer in any position to keep shy, Keith moaned with abandon into Lance's mouth, writhing under his overheated body, hopelessly clenching his fists on nothing as he still somehow managed to keep them pinned above his head. Lance's other palm ran up his oversensitive side and ribs, hooking around his upper back and behind his shoulders, tips and nails teasing in the hair at his nape.

"I wonder," Lance said in a whisper between his teeth, "if I can make you empty yourself out with just my fingers?"

"I hate you," Keith whined again, bucking his hips against Lance's erection, his body begging for that total fullness, the incomplete pressure of Lance's fingers working inside him only taking him to the frustrating precipice of ecstasy, not enough to tip him over the edge.

"You might change your mind after this," Lance promised, working his fingers in to the next knuckle and spreading them open again. "Your dick seems to agree with me," he teased when the half-limp organ perked up a bit.

"Fuck you," Keith spat, falling into the banter and catching his teeth on Lance's lips.

"There's still time for that," Lance acknowledged, hooking right against Keith's prostate and causing his vision to white out in a dense field of stars.

"I've got time now," Keith mumbled breathlessly when he found his voice again, only just coherent as Lance's face shifted back into focus.

"Whaddya think we're doing?" Lance smirked, prodding that nerve cluster again.

Keith arched, beads of perspiration wetting his hairline. "You _know_ I don't consider this fucking," he growled, despite his hips rolling into Lance's hand. "Need… _ngh_ , need a lot more of you than that."

"Hmm," Lance hummed in what might have been agreement. He dipped lower down Keith's jaw and neck as he pulled out and thrust his fingers in, Keith's moan pitching higher and louder as he buried his them to the hilt. Keith's chest heaved at the end, eyes rolling from the intensity of the pressure and stretch from Lance's fingers pushed and spreading inside him.

"Are you alright?" Lance asked, in awe of the litany of sounds bursting from Keith's throat. Still clenching erratically as he fought to adjust, Keith managed to nod his head. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and Lance laid his free hand on his shoulder to ground him. "Does it hurt too much? Do you want to stop?"

" _Mngh_ _... I've done this before. I can take it_ … I'm okay," Keith gasped, inhaling shakily, not able to confidently look at Lance's face, complexion blotchy from the strain. "Give… gimme a second. _Shit_ ," he hissed as an involuntary leg spasm sent a new wash of pleasure-pain through his hips and back.

"You don't have to tough it out for me, man, just say the word," Lance reassured him, already easing his fingers back.

"I know, I know, I just… _urk_ _!_ " His entrance suddenly clenched on nothing as Lance withdrew in a smooth motion, wiping his hand on his discarded boxers while still watching Keith.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I just… I can't stand seeing you in pain like that," he shushed Keith's tiny gasps of excruciating relief, stroking his dampened hair back and kissing his sweaty forehead. "I'm so sorry," he said again, gathering Keith in his arms when he broke into unrestrained sobbing. This wasn't about physical pain; it never had been. Keith never cried over things like that.

Keith clung to him like a man drowning – as he always did. So tightly Lance wouldn't be able to breathe if Keith didn't place his arms just so. His legs dropped, one drifting to the floor and the other lingering over the back of Lance's thigh before sprawling relaxed. Lance whispered Spanish endearments to him while he struggled against his tears, then finally gave in and let them fall quietly, the occasional sniffle muffling in his shoulder.

Lance hadn't quite gotten used to this, but it'd happened enough times and yet also rarely enough that he'd accepted he couldn't predict it, couldn't expect it, really; all he could do was switch gears into care-taking as soon as it began, to stand a chance of helping Keith pull himself back together.

It broke his heart every time, watching Keith destroy himself for the sake of his partners' pleasure, letting himself get burned up in reckless games of seduction and release, never finding that safe harbor where he could spend the night and find that human connection he wouldn't admit he was always missing.

Things improved the more Keith allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of Lance. He still had a long way to go, and Lance wished he could take some of the obstacles out of his way if only to ease his deeply-rooted pain. The emotional scarring ran deep, so intrinsic to Keith's identity he himself barely understood where his trauma even came from. But Lance, the first who ever let him show his weakness, never asked him to explain himself, never made him feel like he had to apologize for ruining the mood; always allowed him the space to let his anxieties flow out of him in a cascade of ugly tears as often as he needed.

In the introspective quiet that Keith always fell into after he settled, Lance had always gotten the impression Keith secretly had a million questions on his tongue. But the boy always kept stubbornly silent, preferring to clam himself up and communicate with gestures and sounds in his throat rather than words.

Today, apparently, was different.

"Why…"

"Hm?" Lance prompted after a few quiet seconds with no further soft words.

"Why are you so… so gentle with me?" Keith whispered tremulously, on the edge of breaking down anew, his fingertips digging into the flesh of Lance's back. "I don't get it."

Lance had a million answers he could give. Because Keith was special. He was precious. He was fine china. Because he had a fragile heart no tougher than a bird's and he didn't know how to guard it himself yet. Because he was the most beautiful person Lance had ever known. Because he was hotheaded and stubborn and reckless and impulsive and smart and clueless and naive. Because why shouldn't he care. Because he had to. "Because I love you."

Keith's breath seized and he stiffened minutely under Lance, a new rigidity in his fingers on his back. Lance waited, unmoving, saying nothing, letting it sink in.

"You— you're just trying to get into my pants," Keith said in a shaky voice, giggling on the edge of hysteria.

"Hate to break it to ya, dude, but you already let me into more than just your pants a long time ago." Keith snorted, burying his face in the crook of Lance's neck as another nervous giggle burst out of him.

Lance had never told Keith he loved him. He had known it for quite some time, but he'd never felt confident he could say it out loud to him until right now. And the way Keith held him tighter and pulled himself closer rather than pushing away – it definitely had been the right time. Keith didn't have to say it back for Lance to believe he felt the same way. The "L" word was hard for the shyer, quieter boy to say; harder to accept, to give in to, to exhibit. He didn't like to make his vulnerability real if there was no net to catch him when everything fell apart.

Keith didn't need to say _anything_. Lance rolled them onto their sides, chest to chest and legs entwining. Keith's back was against the couch, secure. Lance stroked his hair back, wiping a tear streak from his cheek. "Anything I can get you?" he asked softly, fingerpads listlessly massaging behind Keith's ear; the violet eyes fluttered shut and his brow relaxed.

"Just stay here. Don't stop," he whispered, color rising evenly in his cheeks. He peered at Lance through his thick lashes, and Lance took the invite for a tender kiss, breath even and unrushed, content to take in each others' scent. Keith's hands fidgeting against Lance's chest. "Sorry I freaked out on you there. Again. I don't know what happened. I should've been able to take you..."

"It's fine. I mean it," Lance soothed into parted lips, "My fault," he said firmly. Keith still appeared dubious but he had accepted that he could never take all the blame if Lance was around to claim it first. "I shouldn't have done that; you didn't get a chance to say if you were ready for it."

"…I don't know if I am, anymore," Keith admitted, turning beet red and averting his gaze.

"Then I'll wait until you know definitely for sure," Lance challenged, grinning at Keith's narrow-eyed indignation.

"You're so ridiculous," Keith griped, embarrassed and flustered beyond even a hint of composure, lightly slapping Lance's shoulder as he struggled to meet his eyes.

" _You're_ ridiculous, and I love you for it," Lance said cheekily, the words easier to attach to every sentiment now he'd already said them once. It was worth the color Keith's face turned in response.

"You're more ridiculous," Keith grumbled, giving up to let Lance kiss him some more. "Do you plan to keep me here the rest of the night?" Lance's leg had hooked quite decisively over both of his while they were attached at the mouth.

"In an ideal world, yes," Lance hummed. His stomach growled audibly as if to remind them of its pervasive emptiness with a vengeance. "But we're not in an ideal world. Did you ever decide what you wanted to eat?"

Keith gaped at him for a few long seconds before answering. "I couldn't really think about food with your _entire hand_ in my anus, sorry," he deadpanned, expression turning sour when Lance burst into laughter. "Seriously," he groused.

"How's Greek? I still really want gyros, actually," Lance chirped as if he didn't have a very scandalized Keith glaring up at him right now. "Is that place up the road any good, do you know?"

"You're _unbelievable_ ," Keith murmured as Lance rolled off the couch after giving him a daring smooch on his forehead, gathering his clothing. He watched his lover shimmy into his boxers and jeans, then pad off into the bathroom to wash his hands. Once he was out of sight Keith flexed his legs, testing the range of motion in his hips. A little tender, nothing like if they had gone all the way.

If he knew the place Lance was talking about, falafel sounded like a good, light choice…

"I'll shower after we get back," Keith said nonchalantly as Lance sauntered back in, briefly pressing the tail of his discarded shirt to his hairline before pulling it on over his head.

"Gross," Lance scoffed when Keith was visible again, "You're gonna make me smell your blowjob stank all through dinner?"

Keith shrugged, smirking. He'd stopped feeling self-conscious of it when they'd spent an entire afternoon directly post-coitus in front of a B horror movie and Lance couldn't keep his hands (or teeth) off of him. "We can eat in the car if you're so worried about people judging us," he offered, stepping into his underwear before moving across the room to pick up his leggings.

Face nearly purple, Lance shook his head in barely-veiled horror. "I won't be able to eat, are you kidding? Cut me some slack here, dude." His mortified face briefly vanished in the fabric of his favorite blue raglan tee, reappearing with slightly messier hair on top. "I swear you only keep me around because you like to make fun of me."

Emboldened, Keith stepped forward and pecked his lips without touching any other part of his body. "I have lots of reasons; that one just happens to be one of the fun ones." He grinned wickedly at Lance's scowl, batting his lashes. "You driving?"

"We are _not_ taking your motorcycle in this, no," Lance confirmed, ruffling Keith's hair to elicit an annoyed "hey!" as payback, turning to gather his socks and shoes. "Take your _actual_ coat, please. It's cold out there."

"You are _so_ the mom-friend," Keith grumbled, a little indulgently, as he shuffled back to the couch to sit and roll on his leggings.

"I told you, that's Hunk."

"Hunk's the _grandma_ friend. He always bakes cookies."

"I still don't understand how that's the _only_ sort of meme you get," Lance said with the detached air of a long-held and often-visited debate. Keith shrugged, over it but frankly amused at how inexplicably it frustrated Lance, or he wouldn't keep bringing it up. Unsolicited, Lance tossed Keith's longer, "actual" coat at him (or more accurately, on his head), tutting as a sort of last word on the matter. Wrestling out from under it, Keith couldn't conceal a genuine contented smile as he sprang to his feet, hiking the waistband of his leggings over his hips.

"What are you so happy about?" Lance asked, eyes glowing. Keith blushed and ducked his head. This had happened enough Lance had a feeling he knew exactly what Keith would say, if he could allow himself to be that vulnerable. To cover himself further, Keith stooped to gather up the new gloves and finally thread his arms through the sleeves of his coat. In those few seconds Lance had stepped closer, and he straightened the hem of Keith's shirt while he busied himself with the gloves.

"They fit okay?" he checked.

"Yeah, I tried one on earlier, remember?" Keith said through his teeth around the second glove in his mouth, hands fumbling. "I just… my hands are shaking…" Lance took hold of the cuff of the first glove and poised it at Keith's fingertips.

"Push," he commanded, and before Keith could object Lance tugged the glove on, Keith's arm automatically stiffening to resist. The glove slid on easily once his fingers were threaded through the right holes. The second glove went on as smoothly, and he flexed his fingers on both hands against the new leather. "Good," he commended, more to himself than to Keith. Lance's fingernails had brushed along the bare palm and back of Keith's hands, and the phantom touch left him aching and pining for more. He stared at his garbed hands for a few seconds after Lance moved away, mind spinning. But Lance was already in his shoes and halfway out the door, so the time to weigh pros and cons was over. With Lance watching him, Keith peeled the gloves off, carefully placing them on the coffee table.

"Keith, what—?"

"I don't wanna ruin them," Keith said hurriedly, his large dark eyes trained on Lance to gauge his (adorably flustered) reaction. Taking a stealing breath he hoped Lance wouldn't notice, he marched to Lance's side, moving faster than he could second-guess himself. Shoulder to shoulder with his boyfriend, Keith glanced down for barely half of a second, before locking onto Lance's azure gaze. Rather than becoming shy, the eye contact emboldened him. Feeling at once braver and more terrified than he ever had in this relationship so far, Keith reached blindly for Lance's hand.

Keith's palm felt softer than expected, only slightly calloused, smooth but dry. And warm. So warm. Their fingers laced between each other, finger pads steady and secure around the backs of their knuckles.

Keith's breath caught, the feeling of skin on his palms so foreign, but pleasant. Lance's eyes widened in shock, but his mouth stretched wider in its delighted grin as it sank in that Keith – _Keith_ – had been the one to reach out. "Hey, man," he stuttered, a new sparkle to his eyes.

"Hey," Keith said demurely, managing with a Herculean effort not to break away. "Are we going?"

It was a full five seconds before Lance came back to himself, and he swung their hands a little between them, squeezing his fingers. "Yeah. Oh yeah—" he cut himself off as his blush deepened, overwhelmed by how absurdly significant holding hands of all things could feel. If Lance hadn't looked as shaken as Keith felt, Keith believed he would already have let go and turned away. Somehow, knowing Lance had as much emotion about this simple act as he showed, gave him that little bit more courage to take a breath and blurt out what he needed to say before it became so huge in his chest his heart would burst.

"Lance," he said quickly, eyes bright and shining. Lance stilled, hyperfocused. Squeezing his hand firmly, proclaiming that he would never let him go. His face burned, blush almost violet. This was everything; nothing he could ever say felt more dangerous, but oh, it promised it would set him free.

Keith glanced down at his feet, and at their hands linked together, and then he looked back up at Lance's expectant face. That angelic face that glowed like the sun, shining in the darkest days when Keith feared the very worst. The one that asked for nothing but his time, and gave all of his.

Biting his lip, Keith faltered. His hand grew clammy around Lance's fingers. Lance tilted his head, his smile gentle, impossibly understanding. "I know," he said, stroking his thumb over Keith's.

"I want to say it," Keith insisted, crestfallen at his own cowardice.

Lance hummed in understanding, swinging their hands again. "It doesn't have to be right now. It's a lot."

"It's not fair--"

"Keith," Lance intoned, stepping closer and resting his forehead on Keith's. Keith gazed up at him, looking young and shy from this angle. He sighed, mouth set.

"I hate that I'm like this," Keith mumbled, eyes averting. Lance pressed against him.

"You are the most amazing man I've met, ever," he said, "and also the most passionate. And the most jaded. I get it."

Frown only deepening, Keith continued to stare at their joined hands.

"One day you'll be able to say it. Doesn't have to be today." His eyes glowed with affection. "I'm used to telling people how I feel about them. And I know it's a little scary for you to do the same thing. It's okay."

A silent tear slipped down Keith's face, overcome by his own frustration.

"Let's get something to eat, yeah?" Lance soothed, brushing the tear away. Keith reached up and pulled him down for a kiss that nearly bruised them, overcompensating for his inability to speak with his penchant for physical touch, for how tightly he would hold on to someone who never let him go. _I love you_.

"I know, baby," Lance whispered happily, smoothing back his hair. "I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There is an indentation in the shape of you / You made your mark on me: a golden tattoo._


End file.
